


The Exiled

by ThroneofMist



Series: History is Dead and Gone [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Betrayal, Depression, Dream is an asshole but we been knew, Emotional Manipulation, Exile, Gen, George and Dream and Sapnap are fighting again, George said sorry Sapnap but I'd rather stab shit with dream, Ghostbur < Wilbur, Implied/Referenced Suicide, King George for like a couple chapters, Oh My God, Philza is vibing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quackity villain arc????, Ranboo and niki sibling arc hwg, Ranboo is incredible he deserves the world, Sad, Technoblade is trying, Tommy is angsty like the whole time im sorry, Tommy is sad okay, as always I will tag more as we go :), big fucking Stockholm syndrome happening here for a hot minute, everyone's an unreliable narrator, he's been forced out of retirement, here we go lads, hes just looking for a big brother to fill the void, i said what i said, murder bfs murder bfs murder bfs, non canon elements obviously, probably yes since George is never there which gives me free reign to write his own story, retirement? lmao bitch you thought, the girls are fighting, tubbo and Tommy make up eventually, very, we're popping off guys we're popping off, will they make up? we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 101,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroneofMist/pseuds/ThroneofMist
Summary: “What?” Tommy asked, a confused smile on his face. But there was terror in his eyes. He reached out for Tubbo, but his arm fell through the air as Tubbo stepped out of the way, eyes on the floor as he spoke.“Dream, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the best thing to do to have Tommy exiled.”Exile Arc bebesaka. the third part to this series because the stream last night got me thinking
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu & Ranboo, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: History is Dead and Gone [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937527
Comments: 277
Kudos: 281





	1. Run you Down Until you Fall

**Author's Note:**

> hallo again
> 
> so ik I said I was taking a break but that stream last night boys oh it got me thinking
> 
> so here we are, idk how regular updates will be because of exams and shit but if you subscribe you'll get an email every time I update :) some of you might have seen the other story, the prequel one, and I will also still be updating that one as I've planned it out and it should only be about eight chapters long :D
> 
> well, welcome back boys, let's settle in

Tommy winced as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Stifling a yawn, he swung his legs off of his bed, bare feet meeting wooden boards. He didn’t mind his new house in L’Manberg. It was big, he supposed. And he’d never really had a house with a proper upstairs, so that was nice.

It looked like all the other houses though. All wooden townhouses piled up on stilts above the lake. Stalls that sold bread and flowers and fresh vegetables in the mornings, as people milled about. It was perfect. It was all perfect. Tubbo was President, and he was Vice, and they had rebuilt their home. It was perfect. So why did he feel so broken inside, like a piece of him had died along with Wilbur that day, like some inner crutch had slipped and he was just stuck on his back in his mind, unable to get up.

For fuck’s sake, it was the morning. He’d just opened his eyes and the shitty crap was already hurting his head again. He pulled on a shirt that was lying discarded over a chair as he padded over to the window. Throwing open the shutters, he stuck his head out of the window, the tulips in the flowerbox overwhelming. His nose crinkled as he squinted in the brightness, scratching at his jaw as birds above squawked painfully.

“Hey Tommy!” He restrained himself from frowning as he glanced down below, meeting Wilbur’s eyes. He was standing down on the platform below, leaning on the fence as he tilted his head up to watch Tommy lean out of the window.

“Hi,” he replied, that thudding aching that appeared every time he saw his friend returning. He didn’t know how Wilbur had returned as a ghost, no one did. He had a suspicion Phil knew somehow, because he was the only one who hadn’t been surprised when Wilbur had appeared a year ago, all washed out and greying.

_“We can have houses around here,” Tubbo mused, vaguely gesturing off in the distance with his hand. Tommy nodded from beside him, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Quackity was scrawling down notes on parchment, ink all over his hands as he tried to keep up with Tubbo’s hopeful suggestions and Tommy’s criticisms. They were perched on a bench, looking out at the destruction that was their home._

_He just couldn’t help the dejected feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach. They were standing over a crater filled with water, a complete shitshow. He didn’t know how they were going to come back from this. Especially when they had people depending on them now, citizens that Schlatt had brough, all shoved into tents until Tubbo and Tommy figured their shit out._

_Two seventeen-year-old boys pushed to the edge of the world._

_“Why don’t we use spruce wood?” Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose before he buried his face in his hands. Oh, he was so fucked. He’d finally fucking lost it. He was hearing his dead fucking friend’s voice in his head, for fucks sake._

_“Wilbur?” It was only when Tubbo spoke, voice heavy with shock, did Tommy finally look up, neck feeling taunt. The air around him became suffocating when he met pale eyes, blinking happily down at him._

_“What the fuck?” Tommy breathed, feeling tears prick at his eyes as he pushed himself up onto his feet. He ignored the way he swayed slightly, stumbling forward. Reaching out with his hands, he let out a strained sound that was half laugh and half a sob as his fingers gripped onto Wilbur’s wrists._

_Lips parting, he watched as his own hands almost went right through his friend’s arms, the grey skin almost shimmering in the sun. But they gripped on, managed to grip onto something. “How?” he stuttered, shaking his head as he let the tears freely fall._

_Wilbur just shrugged, smiling widely as he gently removed his arms from Tommy’s grasp to pat him placatingly on the shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said, and his voice sounded years younger than it had before. Sounded painfully sweet against Tommy’s ears, unfamiliar and wrong. “Does it matter?”_

_He had no idea what to say to that. Had no idea what to do with this. With his dead brother standing, or hovering, in front of him. Smiling. Smiling, like nothing had even happened. Like, like he was fifteen again, and Wilbur was telling him about a van he had in the forest with a lopsided grin. He stepped back when Tubbo and Quackity came up behind him, Tubbo staying close beside Tommy as the three of them gawked at their friend who was supposed to be dead._

_“Wilbur?” Quackity asked tentatively. Will’s face screwed up, his nose crinkling as he shook his head. Grey curls fell into his face. He brushed them away, skin seeming translucent in the light. “Please don’t call me that.” None of them responded. Quackity and Tubbo shared a look over Tommy, and he just blatantly stared at the thing in front of him, tears drying painfully on his cheeks. They scratched against his skin._

_“What do you want to be called then?” Tubbo tried, and Tommy felt him shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Well, I’m not Wilbur anymore,” he mused, biting his bottom lip in thought. “How about Ghostbur?” he asked, eyes bright and face young. Unblemished._

_Gone were the calluses on his fingers, the scars that had nicked his jawline. He was someone completely different, someone completely new and unfamiliar. No one noticed Tommy take a small step backwards._

_“That we can do,” Tubbo said kindly, and Quackity nodded along in agreement. Tommy was the only one who didn’t move, didn’t react. Because inside him, his head was screaming in panic, in fear, because Wilbur might have found a way to bring himself back somehow. But it wasn’t his Will._

_There was something fucked about seeing someone who had brought him so much warmth and only feeling an empty coldness._

“Are you just getting up now?” Tommy grimaced as Phil walked over to Ghostbur, arms laden with packages of bread and fish. “Pretty late, isn’t it?” he finished as he handed Ghostbur a piece of blue dye from his bag. Tommy frowned as he watched Ghostbur laugh with glee, running the chalky blue over his fingers. It didn’t stain or crumble in his palms like it should have. He decided he didn’t care enough to question it.

“Not like I’ve got anything to do, is it?” Tommy bit back, instantly regretting the bite to his voice when Ghostbur blinked up at him in surprise. Phil just laughed softly, shaking his head like Tommy had said something funny.

“No,” Phil mused. “I don’t suppose you do.” Tommy nodded shyly, feeling guilty as the older man offered him a kind smile. He hid his fingers in his sleeves, blinking when he realised that at some point the shirt had become too big for him, sitting weirdly on his shoulders.

“Would you like some blue, Tommy?” Ghostbur asked, reaching out his hand, the blue lying still in his palm, as if Tommy could just reach down two floors and grab it.

“Not right now,” he said, ignoring the lump in his throat as he backed away from the window, feet warm against the cold floor. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Bye Tommy!” Ghostbur called up as Phil said goodbye too, their voices cut off as Tommy pulled his shutters over, fingers stilling on the handle as he breathed heavily. He stayed at the window for a couple of minutes, raking hands through his hair as he breathed heavily.

Then he did what he did every day. Mindlessly pulled on clothes, ruffled his hair and grabbed an apple from his kitchen. It was mostly empty, bar the few times Tubbo would sometimes come over with food, ignoring Tommy’s protests and saying it was just so he could make them dinner.

He peered through the small window in his door to make sure there was no one who’d try and stop him to talk outside before he grabbed his sword from where it stayed in his hall and shouldered the door open. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him as he jumped down the stairs, rolling his shoulders back.

The air was fresh, cutting through the veins in his throat as he weaved in and out of the morning crowd, making his way out of L’Manberg. He spotted Karl speaking to Quackity at the podium, the taller boy leaning against a seat as Quackity grinned, nodding and laughing at something the other said. Tommy ducked his head, pulling his hood over his hair as he avoided their gaze.

He broke out into a slight jog as he ran over the bridge that connected L’Manberg to the rest of the world, boots hitting the wooden planks with a thud each time. At least it was grounding, hearing his own steps. Reminded him that he was in this corporeal body when he felt like he was floating away, like he might drift up to the lanterns that permanently hung in the sky above L’Manberg. They sent beautiful dancers of light across the water when it was night, and when he couldn’t sleep, Tommy sat at his open window and watched.

Sighing when he entered Dream’s lands, his fingers instinctively drifted to the hilt of his blade. He walked, unsure of what to do to get rid of the restlessness out of his blood system. Too concerned with the numbness of his own head, he nearly missed the horses clopping down the path.

“Tommy.” His head snatched up at the voice, pushing his tongue into his cheek when he was met with a ceramic mask, new and without scratches, staring emptily back at him. Dream was sitting on a grey horse, almost blending in with his grey sweater and ashy hair. Tommy wished it was Dream who was dead, Dream who was the fucked up childlike ghost, not the man who had been his brother.

The desire to see Dream lying on the floor, blood trailing down from his mouth and eyes glazed over, gripped him so suddenly that he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“Are you okay?” His eyes snapped towards George, who was on a horse beside Dream, and watching Tommy with an arched brow. The sun was glinting off of the crown settled neatly on his head, and the light was blinding Tommy. George’s throat bobbed, and the large scar slashed across his throat blinked down at Tommy as he breathed.

Technoblade had done that. He’d heard a couple of days after. Hadn’t really felt anything when Tubbo had told him.

_“Is he alive?” Tommy asked from his seat in the town hall, picking at his nails._

_“Yes,” Tubbo said, and Tommy frowned when Quackity and Fundy seemed to relax at that. He didn’t understand why they cared. “It was Technoblade. He tried to kill George. Eret asked him to do it apparently. After Dream revoked his kingship.”_

_“What’s this got anything to do with us?” Tommy asked, shrugging. “With L’Manberg?”_

_Tubbo blinked back at him before he sighed deeply. He was wearing his suit. Not the same one from…before. This one was navy and had golden tassel things on the shoulders. Tubbo had told him they were called epaulets, and Niki had made them for him. Tommy had thought they were pretentious. He hadn’t said that though, instead had just grinned and told Tubbo it looked good on him._

_He was always wearing his suit now._

_“They wanted…Dream and Sam came to me. They wanted to make sure we weren’t affiliated with Technoblade. In any way.” The unspoken words hung thickly in the air as the three other cabinet members looked to Tommy. There was only one-way Technoblade would be affiliated with L’Manberg._

_“I hate the dickhead,” Tommy said, eyes feeling tired and too heavy for his face. “No affiliations here.”_

“Fine,” Tommy answered George sharply, squinting in his direction. “Just peachy.” Dream snorted, and Tommy could see the unamused scowl plastered on his face. Bastard.

“Well,” George coughed awkwardly as the two of them glared at each other. “We need to go,” he said politely, nudging his horse forward.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked with mild interest as an idea swept through his head.

“Nothing to do with you,” Dream snapped, at the same time George said, “Public relations with a city across the sea.” The two of them shared a look, and Tommy wondered how George could even tell what Dream was trying to signal to him under the mask. But he seemed to get it, because eventually George turned back to Tommy with a roll of the eyes before he continued his horse forward.

“See you around, Tommy,” he lazily waved before he passed him, horse’s tail swishing. Dream didn’t even look at him as his horse trudged past. Tommy threw up his one middle finger he still had when they had their backs turned to him. He grinned when Dream’s back stiffened, as if he could somehow tell. Bitch.

Licking his bottom teeth, Tommy grinned ferally, taking off in the opposite direction of Dream and George. He wanted Dream to pay for everything he’d done last year, for the way he’d tugged on literally everyone’s strings. For the way he had pretended to be Tommy’s friend, had pretended to help him, only to turn around and laugh while Tommy choked to death on his own dagger, embedded in his back.

And he was going to do what he did best. He was going to fuck shit up.

He paused when a familiar figure appeared on the same path. _Well_. This could work out great for him. “Ranboo!” he called, cupping his hands over his mouth. The figure turned, head tilting before he started walking towards him. The guy might have been related to Niki in some way, but there was no chance on earth he was fully human.

He reminded Tommy of Bad, with his two glowing eyes that seemed to never blink. The man was also practically seven foot tall, with long legs that looked like they were hard to manoeuvre. He would be intimidating, with the way half of his face seemed to be dusted permanently with black ash, dripping into his pale skin on the other half, if he wasn’t such a pussy.

Tommy never thought Niki would be the strong one in a pair, but here they were. When hell froze over, he guessed.

“Hey Tommy,” Ranboo smiled shyly, waving one long, thin hand at him.

“You busy?” Tommy asked, glancing over his shoulder just to check Dream and George hadn’t suddenly decided to ride back.

“Well, actually, I was just-”

“Great, so you can help me with something,” Tommy cut him off as he started forward, licking his bottom lip as he followed the path further and further into Dream’s lands.

“What are we-”

“You ever been robbed, Ranboo?” Tommy asked, eyes wide with anticipation. The taller boy just looked down at him, with those fucking eyes, lips turned into a soft frown.

“Who are you robbing, Tommy?” he asked quietly, eyes flicking down to look at his own shoes, as if he was afraid to meet Tommy’s eyes. As if he already knew the answer.

“I reckon robbing a King would be a pretty interesting start to the day,” he grinned, fingers twitching as he started off again.

“It’s midday already,” Ranboo muttered from behind him, but Tommy ignored him. He kept walking forward, towards the house George had built for himself in the side of a small hill. Domestic bliss, protected by Dream. Not blown up before. Not blown up yet.

Tommy’s childhood bent beside him as he walked, the boy from two years ago crying out as he trampled over himself with each step. “Are you coming or not?” he called over his shoulder, not regretting the harsh, icy tone in his voice when Ranboo nodded eagerly, following after him.

They passed Niki on their way, but Tommy didn’t stop to speak. Ranboo waved at his sister, and Tommy didn’t miss the look of praise Niki shot her brother, gesturing her head towards Tommy before she shot him a thumbs up. Ranboo grinned back. Tommy tried his best to not roll his eyes as he tugged Ranboo away by the sleeve, leaving Niki with her new friend Puffy as they picked flowers.

“How’re you and Niki related anyway?” Tommy asked as George’s house appeared over the horizon. Ranboo coughed awkwardly, digging his heels into the dirt as he shrugged, avoiding the question. “Whatever man,” Tommy scowled, concentrating instead on the objective in front of them. Hopping the fence, his boots landed in a circle of tulips, the flowers faltering pathetically under his feet.

“Nice place he has,” Ranboo commented as Tommy rattled at the door handle. Locked. Pushing his tongue into his cheek, his eyes slid towards the windows covered with pretty brown shutters. He unsheathed his sword. And he smashed it through the glass pane.

Ranboo let out a gasp of surprise, but Tommy was already clambering through the ruined window, and unlocking the door from the inside. He grinned as it swung open when he pushed it with his foot, beckoning Ranboo inside. “After you,” he said, mockingly bowing when Ranboo stepped over the threshold.

George’s house was still pretty empty, sparse furnishing placed erratically around the large room. But chest lined the wall, and Tommy started rifling through them as he hummed under his breath, pulling out potions with a satisfied smile. “You got anything good?” he asked Ranboo, watching as the other boy held up a shield. He kept it at arm’s length, as if he didn’t want to touch it with his skin. “This, I guess,” he said, eyes flicking to Tommy. “I don’t know if we should-”

“He’s got potions and shit over here, if you want,” Tommy offered, pulling all the bottles he could find from the chest. He was shit at brewing, so it would at least be handy to have some around if he needed. Fingers stilling, his eyes fell on a flint and steel, the metal glinting up at him. He dropped the potions back into the chest, snatching up the flint.

A laugh escaped his lips as he held it up to the light.

“Tommy?” He turned to look at Ranboo, who was looking at him carefully. Like Tommy deserved to be looked at carefully, cautiously, as if he was a loose cannon that everyone was waiting to blow. They didn’t know that was the rest of his family. And they were gone now. No one had anything to worry about. Not anymore.

Because Tommy was the hero, wasn’t he? He always had been. Had always fought with pride, had always tried his best to do what was right and noble and hard. He had lost his fingers to war, trying to defeat a tyrant. He had lost his brothers to his own ideals, lost his family. Now he only had an imprint of them, an impression, a painting fading with time. Only had an imprint of himself, his younger self, stamped across his skin.

His brothers’ fight was over. L’Manberg’s fight was over. Tommy’s wasn’t.

He needed his discs back. They were what mattered. What gave Dream power. And none of them would be safe if Dream had power over them. No one would be safe with Dream pulling on their strings, pulling on their wrists until eventually their bones popped out, slick with blood and betrayal.

Tommy would win this last fight.

And then it would be over. Then they would all be fine.

“You ever just want shit to burn, Ranboo?” he asked, running the steel over his fingers. He was surprised when Ranboo nodded, a tentative grin pulling on his lips. Tommy barked with shocked laughter, but nodded along anyway, coming up beside Ranboo in the middle of the room.

Then there was a soft scratch, as Tommy summoned a flame with the flint and steel. It gleamed up at him, nodding enthusiastically, begging to devour. Tommy granted it its wish as he tossed it onto the wooden floor. It went up instantly, cackling and screaming with delight as flames ripped across the floor.

Ranboo grabbed onto Tommy’s hand and tugged him outside. The two boys stumbled backwards, protected by the damp grass, and watched as George’s house burned. It went quickly, the flames racing through the wood in a flash of unforgiving, unrelenting reds and golds. The paint on the front door bubbled, boiling before the wood collapsed, charred and destroyed.

It was beautiful, Tommy thought to himself as the roof started to crumble in on itself. The smell choked him, and beside him Ranboo started coughing into a fist, smoke circling their ankles. It was like a celebration, like a bonfire as it cast a yellow glow into the air. The flames only got louder, roaring and scorching as the heat of it pierced Tommy’s skin. He didn’t move away.

A window blew out, hot shards of glass firing towards him. He ducked, dropping to the grass with Ranboo, throwing his arms up to protect his face. Beads of red dripped down his arms as he lowered them, eyes enchanted by the burning mess in front of him.

He was going to get his discs back.

And he was going to make Dream scream.


	2. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The heart that gives, gathers.”
> 
> Niki moment pog

The smell of lavender plaited itself into Niki’s hair as she locked the shop door behind her. Puffy was waiting outside, leaning against the brick wall, hair swaying in the wind and careless smile painting her sharp features. Puffy smiled a lot. She smiled like it cost her nothing. Like it didn’t take effort, like it was easy. Like she’d been smiling her whole life and it hadn’t ever gotten harder.

“I am starving,” Puffy sighed when the door clicked softly shut behind Niki, pushing herself up onto her feet and clapping her hands together.

“God, me too,” Niki nodded as they linked their arms together and started off towards L’Manberg. The sun was still high in the sky even though it was late, the air crisp and bracing against flushed cheeks. It had been a good day today. She’d had doubts about opening up a florist, especially with her bakery back in L’Manberg, but Puffy had managed to convince her. And as they walked home together, her friend humming happily at her side, Niki wouldn’t have it any other way.

Apart from all the other ways she would have it. All the other realities that cursed her dreams, that haunted her soul, breathed against her ribs.

_The door swung open, sounded by the light twinkle of the golden bell above. She absently wondered if it was Ranboo and Tommy back again as she dropped her pen down onto the paper she’d been taking inventory on. Ink spilled across her thin fingers._

_“Sorry, we’re actually about to close, but if…” Her voice caught in her throat as she turned back towards the counter to look up at the customer who had entered. A white mask stared blankly back at her. It was stranger now. Now that she knew what he looked like. It had been easier before, to pretend that the man under the mask wasn’t wholly human, wasn’t like her. Didn’t breathe and sleep. Didn’t need to eat and touch. Didn’t crave warmth. But now all she could picture was handsome green eyes, and a nose peppered in golden freckles._

_“Oh,” she said softly, bracing her hands on the wooden counter as she leaned forward, up onto her toes. Dream cocked his head at her, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. A grimace danced along his lips. “I can come back tomorrow or something,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you’re closed. I just thought that-”_

_“It’s alright,” she smiled carefully, stepping around the counter to properly speak with him. He was wearing a grey sweater, and if it wasn’t for the mask, and the imposing air he seemed to carry with him, she might not have realised it was him. He seemed nervous. “So,” she said, watching as his throat bobbed. “You’re looking for some flowers?”_

_He nodded quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. For uh…I was going to get some flowers for George. I think he’d like them. I guess, I don’t know.”_

_Niki had to suppress the delighted smile that threatened to dance across her face, not wanting to embarrass the man. Who would’ve thought, that the same man who had revelled in chaos and destruction, would come completely undone in a florist, trying his best to find flowers for his lover? It made it easier to forget the horrors he had forced her to face, had practically grabbed her by the throat and thrown her into the darkness. And Niki was all for forgetting._

_“I think he’d like that too,” she nodded in agreement, turning to show him some wildflowers they’d just got in that day. She didn’t miss the red that flashed across his jaw before she gestured with her hand. “Does he have a favourite colour?”_

_“Blue,” Dream answered instantly, pushing his tongue into his cheek as Niki pointed to some asters in a vase. He shook his head. “ But, maybe, I just…I think the blue thing is overdone; I don’t know. Even if he can’t see the colour of them like I can, it doesn’t mean he won’t like them,” he said as he picked up a poppy, spinning it around in his hand. It was a strange image, Niki thought to herself as she rolled back on her heels, such a delicate thing in such a strong, harsh hand._

_“You’re right,” she nodded, gently picking up a handful of poppies, brushing her fingers against the petals. “I think he’ll love these,” Dream said quietly, and Niki didn’t know if he was even speaking to her anymore, so she just nodded before she took them over to the counter. Dream watched, standing by the window as she tied them with string._

_“Thank you,” he smiled, as she handed them to him, and he handed over a couple of coins._

_“This is too much,” she started, holding her hand back out as her brows furrowed. “It’s only-” She cut herself off when he gently folded her hand back in, her skin enveloping the money._

_“Thank you,” he said again, with a slight nod of acknowledgment before he was gone, the bell ringing behind him._

She laughed along with Puffy as she described the pasta she was going to cook for the two of them as soon as they got back home. Puffy probably wouldn’t be cooking them pasta. She wasn’t the best chef. Niki had woken up to find something burning in the kitchen more than once.

“Do you uh…” she trailed off as she glanced at her friend. “Do you think you’ll properly move into L’Manberg soon? There’s a house right next to Phil and Ranboo,” she offered. Puffy smiled back, but Niki didn’t miss the glint in her eyes as they walked up the stairs leading to L’Manberg.

“I’m still considering other options,” she replied honestly, tightening her arm around Niki’s in what she thought was supposed to be comfort. “Dream offered me a place in his lands,” she said as she cocked her head to look at Niki, eyes scanning over her face for a reaction. She didn’t give her one, instead she just nodded and smiled, just like she’d practised.

She might be willing to sell flowers to Dream, but she didn’t trust him. And she didn’t want her friend to be hurt. She’d already lost too many friends to the man’s wars. Sometimes, when it got a bit too much, and the loneliness cut a bit too deep, she would run her fingers over the guitar she had saved from Pogtopia after the war and imagine she could hear Will’s voice in her head.

Singing along with him, she would imagine him laughing softly, brushing away the tears on her cheeks with his knuckles. “You’re being silly,” he would say, clicking his tongue. And she would nod in agreement, hair falling in her face before she would lean her head on his shoulder, letting him sing away.

And then she would wake up, guitar on her lap, feeling very, very cold.

It got better, when Ranboo moved in next door. She had sobbed freely the day he’d arrived, after writing back to her saying he would come if she was really sure. She had held onto her little brother for hours, gripping onto his shirt as she sobbed into his chest. Ranboo had just wrapped his arms around her, rubbing soothing circles along her back.

_“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said into his chest, a wet laugh escaping her lips as she felt his own laugh vibrate through his body._

_“Neither. I didn’t expect it to be this nice,” he said, voice muffled. She bit down harsher sobs that threatened to completely undo her when her brother placed a hand on her head, patting her hair softly._

_“Should we go inside?” she asked when she pulled back, rubbing at her face with her fists. Ranboo didn’t let go of her as he nodded kindly, a sincere smile lighting up his face. She helped him carry in his bags, telling him to just drop them in the kitchen as she shut the door behind them. “We can move them into your place tomorrow if you want,” she suggested as she watched her brother stand awkwardly in the middle of her home. He wasn’t ever great with new places._

_“That would be great,” he said as she walked into the living room and fell onto the couch._

_“Do you want me to introduce you to everyone?” she asked as he sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything about the way her voice cracked pitifully, but she knew by his steady blinking that he hadn’t missed it._

_“I’m sure that can wait,” he replied before he held his arms out. She laughed, immensely grateful, before she let herself fall into her little brother’s arms. Soaking his shirt with her tears, she tried to let herself loose into his familiar warmth._

He made her chamomile tea and helped make vanilla cookies. He offered to be there whenever she wanted to speak. He seemed to understand that she didn’t want to.

Because it was easier to just try and forget. Because if she spoke about it, spoke about Wilbur, she wouldn’t be able to stop the festering rot that was in her soul from pouring out everywhere. And she wouldn’t ever be able to get that back. Because as much as she missed Wilbur, so painfully that she thought she might die of a breaking heart, of fractured veins - that was only at night. Because night was the history of longing, and Wilbur was her night.

In the cruel light of the day, as the soft sun sent creamy light scattering across her hands and the flowers in her flowerbox and the dust against her windowpanes, she realised she might hate Wilbur for what he’d done.

And she didn’t want to hate Wilbur. So, she tried to ignore it all. She saw him everywhere, in the stars, in the lake. To her he was everything that existed, the reality of everything. Even in death.

She busied herself with her businesses. She met with Ranboo, let her brother speak about how he was worried he hadn’t made any friends yet and told him it would all work out. She went on walks with Fundy and ignored him when he swore Wilbur was back as a ghost. She cleaned her home and smiled when Puffy laughed at her as she did it, batting her friend and temporary roommate over the head with her broom. They would sit cross legged on her couch drinking wine and giggling when it sloshed onto their clothes.

Niki didn’t laugh the next day when she spent hours scrubbing into her white pillows, and the red marks still wouldn’t leave. And when the red marks turned into blood seeping through the fabric, blood that flooded her living room, washing over her skin and her soul and her teeth, and she found herself throwing up in the bathroom, no one said anything.

“Pasta sounds great for tonight,” she smiled up at Puffy. Her friend opened her mouth to reply, already grinning, when she paused, head turning and choking out in shock. Niki frowned, looking to see what Puffy had, and her own red lips parted.

A huge wall of obsidian was standing tall against the border of L’Manberg. The ominous black structure was ugly, imposing, an oozing wound against soft skin. A man stood on top of it, a pickaxe leaning against his chest as he stared straight towards them. Anger coursed through Niki’s veins, her lips twisting into a scowl.

His hood was down, blond waves freely tumbling in the wind. A single poppy was tucked behind his ear.

“Oh my,” Puffy grimaced. Niki didn’t speak, just started running, hair whipping behind her in the wind as she raced down the stairs. Dream shook his head as she took them two at a time, but Niki just glared back at him. “What are you doing?” she screamed in protest, letting out a snarl of annoyance when she came to the massive wall. There wasn’t even a door. She smashed her fist against it, pain roaring through her arm.

Dream just cocked his head.

The poppy mocked her, red petals twisted and distorted.

“Are you trying to protect it, or what?” Puffy asked as she came up beside Niki, placing her hands on her hips as she tilted her head up at Dream. Irritation was evident in her friend’s voice, but it was slick and elegant and calm. Far from the feral rage that was shooting carelessly through Niki’s own body.

“No,” Dream said, voice low and melodic.

“Are you trying to blow it up again?” Puffy demanded, raising one brow. It was impressive, the way she was standing there, Dream above her with a soft, almost amused, smile on his face. But the Niki remembered that he had offered her a place beside him, and the awe ebbed away, eaten up by anxiety.

“No,” he repeated in the same way. Niki watched as he sat himself down, legs dangling as he leaned his chin on the pickaxe. He looked childish almost, especially with the flower tucked behind his ear, brushing against golden hair. But the pick had stains on it that she didn’t miss, crimson and incriminating. It was almost like they were there for show, as decoration.

Puffy spat out a humourless laugh. “So, you’re just decorating for the festive season, asshole?”

“What are you trying to do?” Niki demanded, and Dream’s head shot from Puffy’s direction towards her.

“I’m all out for now,” was all the bastard said, shrugging lightly as he ran his tongue over his teeth, like he was a cat lazing on a garden wall, waiting for its owner to return. Niki wondered who he was waiting for, because there was no way she and Puffy were important enough for him to deign to speak to.

A shout resounded behind her before she could say anything more. Dream let out a satisfied hum under his breath.

She turned to see Tubbo racing towards them, arm outstretched as he called out pleas of protest. So here was the prize Dream wanted, Tubbo running towards the bait Dream had lain.

Ranboo and Fundy were behind the President, her brother’s eyes wide with emotion. He looked to her, and all she could do was shake her head in uncertainty. But he didn’t look confused as he followed Tubbo, and doubt unfurled in her chest as Tubbo started speaking to Dream. She didn’t drop her gaze from Ranboo, watching as he rubbed his hand down his face, less in shock and more in fear.

“What are you up to?” Tubbo asked as he stepped forward, blue eyes glinting in anger, even if he successfully kept it from his voice.

“Well,” Dream started, practically purring from where he sat above them all. He ran a single finger along the wall. “I’m out of obsidian but I’ll be back another day,” he shrugged, white teeth glinting in the lowering sunlight. None of them missed the threat in his words. Ranboo stiffened from where he stood beside Niki, scratching at his collar. “Just marking your territory that’s all.”

“Well,” Tubbo started, voice polite and stiff. “You’ve marked it wrong.”

“I haven’t,” Dream shook his head as he tapped his fingers along his pick. Niki half expected him to toss it at one of them. She doubted he would even move as it chipped into their skull, as they fell to the ground and bled out. All over his new wall. “I decide where L’Manberg is.”

“What is wrong with you?” Tubbo barked out, the civility in his voice losing out to his evidently rising anger. It didn’t help that Dream was clearly enjoying being cryptic, as he let his legs swing from side to side.

“Just making sure you guys have clearly marked borders.”

Tubbo stepped forward, hand pressed flush against the dark brick. It seemed to suck the life out of the landscape around them. It was as if Niki could feel the dirt beneath her boots crumbling, as if it was trying to pull them down with it, bury them all in its warmth. Keep them safe in its suffocation, holding them down as the roots circled themselves around their wrists.

“But-”

Dream cut Tubbo off with a dismissive hand wave. “Just trying to help.”

“You’ve taken half our land,” Tubbo protested, hand against the wall twisting into a fist. He brushed his arm down, the material biting down into his knuckles.

“Oh no.” Sarcasm dripped from Dream’s drawl as he sighed heavily. “I mean,” he paused, gesturing with the same hand that hours ago had been nervously gripping poppies, around L’Manberg. All of the lanterns above seemed to send cascades of light washing over his body, like he demanded their focus to be on him with his mere presence. “ _Technically_ , it is all mine.”

Niki barked out a laugh as she stepped forward. She ignored the way Ranboo touched her shoulder, as if he could drag her away from Dream and his pickaxe stained with blood and betrayal and tyranny. “We fought an entire war for this!” she yelled, fingernails digging into her palms.

“Yeah,” Dream shrugged. And it was that action, the shrug, that threatened the thin tether Niki was keeping on her rage. Because Dream just didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. Didn’t care that Wilbur had died for this. That Tommy had lost his fingers. That a family had been fractured and torn apart for this, Technoblade banished. He still didn’t see them as his equal, still didn’t even consider L’Manberg as worthy. Didn’t consider L’Manberg as anything.

“But Schlatt was democratically elected,” he continued, not even looking at Niki anymore. The amusement had gone now, replaced with a stiff boredom that gripped the man’s shoulders as he pushed himself to his feet, swinging the pickaxe around. “A new government took over. Those treaties mean nothing now.”

Ranboo stepped forward as the rest of them stared up at him, the silence getting thicker and thicker. “That is not how countries work-”

“And who are _you_?”

Ranboo’s words died in his mouth. Dream’s voice was slick with irritation. Ranboo’s cheeks blushed furiously as he shook his head. It was so demeaning, so degrading and belittling and cruel, and for what?

Her brother seemed to shrink in on himself, training his eyes on the ground as he bit sharply down on his bottom lip.

A smile danced across Dream’s face as he watched Ranboo’s eyes prick with tears of mortification. None of them spoke as Ranboo wrapped an arm around himself, petrified with shock. Niki wished she would shatter. She wished they would all shatter.

“Look, if I was you, I’d speak to Tommy,” Dream said with a huff, like he was a child boredom of his plaything, already searching for something new to entertain himself with. “Then we’ll see if you understand,” he finished as he threw a pearl off into the distance, disappearing with a dry and mocking salute towards Tubbo.

No one spoke. Fundy took to swinging at the obsidian with his own pick, trying to craft a temporary entrance so they could at least get into their home. Puffy was trying to engage Ranboo in a conversation about a specific cloud in the sky, but Niki’s brother just nodded in response, blank eyes still overtly focused on the damp grass beneath their feet.

Niki let herself lean against Dream’s wall, the back of her head hitting against the obsidian. Tubbo’s hushed mutters cut through all the noise in her mind, his words replaying in her head and on his tongue as the two of them made eye contact. The uncertainty in his eyes played off of the defeat in her own.

“For fuck’s sake Tommy, what have you done now?”


	3. The Courthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Excessive rewards are a sign of desperation. Excessive punishments are a sign of exhaustion.”

Quackity watched as Tubbo paced back and forth in the van, fingers digging into his hair as words tumbled from his mouth, mostly meaningless and painted in panic. He tried to nod along from where he leaned against the window, keeping an eye out for Tommy. He was just met with the fuck off walls that encased their home. Green peeked over the top, the trees that Dream had cut off from L’Manberg mocking him as they swayed solemnly in the wind.

Tommy had burned down George’s house. That was the whisper breathing through the city on stilts, passed from ear to ear overnight. He heard it as he walked through the square, throat bobbing as he felt eyes grazing over him. Sometimes he forgot, the power he held here now. As one of Tubbo’s cabinet members, what he said mattered, his opinion held weight. That had never happened before. No one had ever cared what he thought before. He didn’t even think he had cared what he’d thought before. 

And now he was responsible for these people, for their home. For his home. And he wasn’t going to fuck up. Wasn’t going to let Tubbo down.

Quackity wasn’t a fucking idiot. He also wasn’t a hopeless optimist like Tubbo, like his President. He’d seen the cracks forming in Tommy a while ago. And maybe he should’ve said something. Should have tried to help his friend who spent most of his time behind locked doors and shut windows, wasting away in his house of stone and skin of scars. But Tommy had ignored him every time he tried, and Quackity had never been great with emotions, with messy situations like this. So, he let Tommy fester in his own bile, prayed that the glint behind the boy’s eyes wouldn’t lead to anything. Prayed that the restless, searching twitch in Tommy’s neck wouldn’t lead to anything too cataclysmic. Wouldn’t affect L’Manberg.

And here they were.

Tommy had done what Tommy did best.

Accused of arson. If it had just been that, it would be easier to believe what he wanted to. Believe that Tommy had nothing to do with this. That their VP wouldn’t be so fucking stupid, and careless as to commit arson.

But it was George’s house. George’s home. His home that he had built for himself, with a pond and crawling vines and painted shutters. George’s home. Dream’s lover attacked. The mark was deep, the intention clear. No one else would try their best to aggravate Dream like this. No one else seemed to thrive on warfare and conflict like Tommy; the definition of a child born from war. A teenager raised by the adults around him clawing for power, leaving behind as many corpses as they deemed worthy.

Well, he had made his mark now. Had made his point. And he couldn’t take it back.

Quackity just prayed they could solve it before it got worse. Before it spiralled into something unrelenting, dragging them out from their peace. He stood up straight when his eyes caught onto a boy pausing in the temporary entrance in the walls.

Tommy’s eyes widened, fingers brushing against the dark material as he murmured something under his breath. Biting his bottom lip, his blue eyes darted towards the van, making contact with Quackity. He didn’t move, unable to quench the tendril of worry that unfurled in his gut. Tommy stepped off of the path, face dissolving into a cast of ease. Quackity didn’t move when the door was flung open, but Tubbo practically jumped out of his skin, head snapping towards where Tommy lounged in the doorway.

“Whatever they said,” he started, voice calm, bordering on amused. “It wasn’t me.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo warned, stepping towards the Vice President as Tommy pushed the door shut behind him, shrugging as he stepped further inside, shooting Quackity an easy smile.

“It wasn’t me,” Tommy repeated, placing his hands on the table centred in the room, throwing one ankle over the other.

“What the hell is going on Tommy?” Tubbo asked, frustration coating his tongue as he gripped onto Tommy’s shoulders, eyes wide and begging.

“I swear to God, if you’ve got something to do with this Tommy,” Quackity shook his head, pointing an accusatory finger in Tommy’s direction. The younger boy just rolled his eyes, like they were overreacting, like there weren’t massive fucking obsidian walls around their home. “There will be consequences.”

“Does this look like something I would do?” Tommy scoffed, removing Tubbo’s hands from his shoulders.

“This looks exactly like something you would do, Tommy!” Quackity cried out in disbelief.

Tubbo winced, even as he nodded in agreement. “It really does. It has your name all over it.” Tommy sighed, shaking his head as if in pity for Quackity and Tubbo as he wandered over to the window, raping his knuckles along the glass pane. His eyes lit up suddenly, locking onto something outside. Quackity squinted over his shoulder but didn’t see anything of importance. Niki and Ranboo were stood at the edge of the lake, Niki speaking with a man Quackity didn’t recognise. Ranboo’s eyes were set on the van.

“Why is this being pinned on me?” Tommy asked coolly. He didn’t turn, kept his eyes drifting towards the outside world. He either couldn’t pick up on the suffocating worry of Quackity and Tubbo, or he just didn’t give a shit. Quackity would make a safe bet on the latter. “This does not sound like something I would do,” he repeated, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he turned to glance at the two of them over his shoulder.

“Did you do it or not?” Quackity commanded, jaw locking into place.

“I swear to God, if you’ve hurt this country,” Tubbo cried out in panic, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Promise to me you haven’t done anything.”

“It just doesn’t sound like something Tommy Innit would do.”

Tubbo’s face hardened over as he stormed over towards Tommy, pointing a damning finger into his chest. “I don’t care what it sounds like, I just want to _know_.” Desperation leaked into his words. Tommy didn’t seem to care.

“At the end of the day I’m still the VP,” Tommy said, completely ignoring Tubbo’s questions as he took a step back. Tubbo’s hand stayed in the air, clenching into a fist. “And what I wanna know is, why there are obsidian walls around L’Manberg?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Tubbo hissed.

“I don’t know,” Tommy said, voice raising for the first time. Irritation passed over his face before he seemed to realise he’d reacted, and his face was awash with nonchalance again. Silence coated the room as Tommy and Tubbo looked at each other, brows lowered and teenage testosterone aflame.

Quackity glanced away, feeling like an intruder stepping into a private moment with two friends, even if he was a member of the cabinet and deserved to be here. He wished Fundy would hurry the fuck up and show up. He quickly scanned outside, heart clenching when he saw Dream and George through the entrance in the wall.

George looked like he was ranting, arms flailing around as he paced back and forth, face a cast of wrath. Dream just stood there, arms folded as he nodded. His mask was staring straight towards the van. Quackity tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, stepping away from the window.

“Tommy, if you’re responsible for this goddamn wall, I am going to lose it,” Quackity said, snapping the two teenagers out of their stupid fucking glaring match. Tommy scoffed, folding his arms tightly into himself. His composure was slipping with each passing silence, eye twitching along to the clock that clicked every second.

The door was slowly pushed open, and Fundy slipped inside, cringing when the three of them turned to stare. He apologised for being late before he slipped into his seat at the table, tugging his hat off of his head. Quackity followed his lead and sat down at his own chair, leaning back and folding his arms. Tommy was last to take his spot, throat bobbing.

“Dream has built walls around L’Manberg,” Tubbo started. He looked impossibly small in the large seat. Even though he was only two years younger than himself, Quackity couldn’t help but see the wasted youth in Tubbo’s eyes as he spoke, voice harsh and seasoned. “Which obviously isn’t great. And he’s claiming that all treaties are void, seeing as we overthrew the government the treaties were made with. However, I don’t believe he is without motive. I think someone in this room has done something, as we are the people in positions of power, and if he wanted to hurt L’Manberg, he would hurt the people of power. So, who has aggravated him?”

Three pairs of eyes turned towards Tommy, the blond trying to ignore their judging gaze before he must have quickly realised that wasn’t a great idea. So, obviously since this was fucking Tommy they were dealing with, his face contorted with outrage.

“Why the fuck are you all looking at me?” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “I’ve done nothing. I’ve just been me.”

“What is being _me_?” Fundy asked, ludicrous as he raised a brow at Tommy. The kid didn’t back down, leaning forward in his chair as he waved his hands around, as if that would distract any of them from the bullshit falling from his mouth.

“Literally _nothing_ ,” he snarled, eyes wild. “I have been, yeah…okay…” he trailed off, shaking his head with a laugh that was just too high pitched to be natural. His eyes shot towards the President. “Tubbo, do I _look_ like a guilty man to you?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Fundy cried out in disbelief, hands on his forehead as he dropped back into his seat with a sigh. Tubbo didn’t speak, biting down nervously on his bottom lip as he looked to Tommy with wide eyes, like he was silently begging Tommy. Silently begging him for anything they could use. Anything they could use to get them out of this fucking hole he had plunged them all into.

“Trust me,” Tommy breathed shakily. He placed a hand on his chest, pale, blue veins running serpentine across his arms, sharp against his skin. Paler than usual, raised veins like spilled ink. Thick scars ran along his skin where his fingers should have been. “This is not me.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo said softly, reaching across the table to grip onto Tommy’s other hand. “George came here and told us his house was _burned_ down-” Tommy laughed, snatching his hand away from Tubbo as he stood up. The legs of his chair scraped horribly against the floor.

“That’s such a shame,” he said mockingly, dragging the syllables out.

“Did you have anything to do with it?” Tubbo asked, sighing as he shifted in his seat. Tommy just continued speaking over him, standing behind his chair, digging his nails into the wood.

“That is so sad.” Sarcasm echoed his words as he refused to meet any of their eyes.

“ _Anything_?” Tubbo yelled. That seemed to snap Tommy out of it, as he turned to Tubbo, shouting his own response.

“No!” he snapped, blinking when he realised how loud he’d been. He exhaled shakily. “No,” he said again, quieter as he shook his head. “No. No, I did not,” he paused, running his tongue over his teeth, leg jittering. “I reckon it was the girl. She’s suspicious,” he said suddenly.

“Niki?” Fundy exclaimed in incredulity. “No, she isn’t,” he objected, scowling at Tommy. The blond ignored Fundy’s annoyed remarks, staring straight towards Tubbo.

“Look at me, I was with Ranboo the other day, the new fella, and I saw her being all suspicious. She was around George’s house.” Quackity shook his head, watching as lie after lie after lie left the boy’s lips. Fundy was silently screaming into his hands at the other side of the table. Tubbo seemed to be the only one seriously considering what Tommy was spewing.

“Are you lying?” he asked slowly, tugging at his shirt collar.

“No,” Tommy shook his head vehemently. “I reckon we are done here.” He clapped his hands together before he strolled over to the door, shoving it open with his elbow. He hesitated when Tubbo stood up and walked over to him. And even though he was almost a head shorter than Tommy, the blond boy stiffened when Tubbo passed him, looking up at him with a gaze so intense, Quackity almost felt bad for Tommy.

“No,” Tubbo said slowly as he opened the door. “I think we ought to talk to Dream.”

“Sure,” Tommy nodded as Quackity and Fundy stood, sharing a look between the two of them before they joined Tubbo’s side. Some citizens were in the square, their eyes drifting towards them as they walked out of the van. “It’s probably not even related to that,” Tommy said, even though no one was listening to him anymore.

“Tommy, stand behind me. Okay?” Tubbo warned, walking forward even though Tommy didn’t answer. Quackity followed close behind as Tubbo walked towards the walls with a stiff back, plastering a democratic smile on his face as he stopped in the entrance to L’Manberg. Fundy lightly shoved Tommy to the side, keeping him hidden behind the wall, out of Dream’s sight.

The man himself was standing right there on the other side, offering his own polite smile as he nodded towards Tubbo. George was by his side, arms folded, and eyes narrowed. George never looked particularly happy, Quackity had picked up on that a year ago, when he’d run for office with the man. Never particularly happy unless he was around Sapnap or Dream. And then he seemed to turn into a different person.

But here he was, standing beside Dream, glaring at the office of L’Manberg like he wanted to fucking slice out all of their guts right where they stood. He took a step forward, dark eyes flashing and jaw locking tightly. Dream’s hand shot out, barely even touching George’s wrist, fingers just grazing the pale skin. But George paused anyway, grinding down onto his teeth in clear frustration, even as his feet stayed dug into the ground.

“Hello,” Dream drawled slowly, rolling back on his heels as he removed his hand from George, clasping them behind his back.

“Hey Dream,” Tubbo said, a nervous and shaky breath escaping him as he cleared his throat. “I’d like to start by pointing the attention to the massive obsidian borders you’ve put up around L’Manberg.” Dream nodded along, the smile on his face twisting into something slightly more deranged. “I’d like to know the motive.”

“Oh,” Dream laughed in mock surprise, hand against his chest. “I’m just trying to be helpful; you know?”

“I don’t see how this is helpful,” Tubbo said carefully, pursing his lips together.

“Well, you see, we signed treaties a while ago, and your country held a democratic election, and voted for Schlatt democratically. And then forces came in and raided the country, took it over, killed the president and took over the land!” He laughed, the sound grating, as he shook his head in amusement, blond locks dropping in front of the ceramic mask. “So, to _me_ , to me,” he repeated, taking a step closer towards Tubbo. To the kid’s credit, he didn’t even flinch. His eyes just narrowed, jutting his jaw out in silent defiance as Dream continued towards him.

“Those treaties mean nothing…now I didn’t really care about this,” he shrugged, dropping a broad hand onto Tubbo’s shoulder. “Until Tommy went and burned down my King’s home.” Quackity watched as Dream’s fingers dug into Tubbo, fabric moving under the pressure. Tubbo’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away. George hadn’t moved, face frozen and unmoving as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

“So, it was Tommy!” Fundy exclaimed, head twirling to glare at the kid. But Tommy was already moving, pushing Fundy out of the way so he could shout at Dream. The older man let go of Tubbo as soon as Tommy came into sight, no one but Quackity noticing as Tubbo pawed at his own shoulder, face crumbling slightly.

“No evidence, asshole!” Tommy swore, eyes painted in raw rage as Dream leered down at him. “Evidence!” he demanded, a low laugh falling from Dream’s lips when Tommy roughly shoved him, the older man stumbling backwards.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Tubbo commanded as Quackity quickly elbowed Tommy behind him. He protested, pushing Quackity’s arm away.

“My King’s home was burned down by Tommy,” Dream declared, gesturing behind him towards George, who was proudly wearing the smuggest smirk Quackity had ever seen, watching with what looked like pride on his face. God, what a fucking weird couple.

“No, doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” Tommy denied, childishly shaking his head. Dream turned to Tubbo, holding his hand out towards their Vice President in mockery. He let silence fall slowly, not moving his hand, even as Tommy’s face flushed redder and redder.

“Listen,” Dream finally said. “I want Tommy punished. I want something to happen to him, for what he’s done.” The unspoken threat was there, as it always was with Dream. Quackity wondered why he even let everyone run around like the power they held was in anyway meaningful. Wondered how much sadistic amusement the man really got from it.

“Are you _insane_?” Tommy laughed, almost hysterically, as Dream’s lips curled down into a scowl. He shrugged, taking a step away from them, returning to his place beside George.

“If nothing is done, the walls will expand,” he said, and his voice was so quiet, so trained and careful, Quackity could feel it cut through him. “Make a decision. Punish Tommy. He cannot go around burning things, blowing things up, he can’t be doing this shit.”

Tubbo nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip, and Quackity could see the thoughts in his head drowning. “Dream, is there any way we could see the property?” he asked after a moment, hands sliding into his pockets.

“It’s been fixed,” George cut in, dark eyes levelled. Dream nodded in agreement, sparing a glance towards George as he looked like he tried his best to not stamp his foot on the ground.

“How do we even know this is real?” Tommy scoffed with wide eyes, but everyone ignored him, Tubbo stepping forward instead as he looked from George to Dream. “Okay, so is the house damaged or not?”

“It has been fixed. But it was damaged for a while,” Dream described smoothly to Tubbo, sighing slightly when George stormed forward, laughing manically as he glared at Tommy, who was standing with his arms folded, rolling his eyes like he couldn’t give less of a shit.

“It was my house, and it was ruined! That was _my_ house,” George cried out, genuine upset creeping into his voice as he gripped his hand to his chest.

“Was there anything that screamed that Tommy did it?” Tubbo asked.

“There was a sign framing the Badlands,” George sighed, as if he couldn’t really believe what was happening in front of him.

Tommy laughed loudly, clapping his hands together. “Well, there you go, it was them then.” God, Tommy was dragging other factions into the shit?

“That proves it was Tommy!” George yelled, fingers flexing into a fist as he stepped forward, only to be caught by Dream’s arms around his waist. Quackity watched as the masked man muttered something in George’s ear that seemed to quell the rage that was burning in his eyes, because they softened ever so slightly, clenched fist falling.

“Gentlemen, listen to me and I mean this, it was not me. Doesn’t sound like me,” Tommy said, lips pressed into a forced smile.

“It sounds exactly like you,” George hissed, nose scrunching up. So maybe Dream hadn’t extinguished all the fire.

“You don’t know me at all, King George,” Tommy spat, the title dripping in mockery and raw hate. He tipped his jaw up towards Dream. “You’re not going to punish me; I didn’t do shit.”

The air around them stilled before Dream laughed lowly, shaking his head before he addressed Tubbo. “Come speak with me a moment, Tubbo.” The President nodded, sparing the cabinet one last glance before he followed the older man away. Quackity shuddered, running his hands down his face.

No one spoke until they returned, and even then, they brought thicker silence with them. Tubbo looked like he might cry, biting down on his bottom lip so harshly, it must have hurt. Quackity tried to catch his eyes, tried to smile at the boy, but he just kept his eyes on the ground. What the fuck had Dream said to him?

The man himself seemed completely unbothered, smooth smirk on his lips as he walked back over to George. He again whispered something into his ear, to which George rolled his eyes and nodded tightly, before Dream brushed a lock of hair from the other man’s face, pressing a kiss to his temple before he started walking away, hands in his back pockets as he whistled.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Tommy demanded once Dream was out of earshot, face contorting into real, unleashed ire.

Tubbo shook his head before he started off in the opposite direction of Dream, boots clicking steadily against the wooden path. “It doesn’t matter where he’s going. We’re going to the courthouse.”

Quackity watched on in shock, Fundy gasping for words. Tommy looked like the world had been knocked off kilter. After a moment of hesitation, Quackity found his feet moving, following his President.

“Why am I being taken to court?” Tommy demanded as he walked beside Tubbo, tripping up with every word. His laces were untied. Quackity wondered if Tommy knew. “I didn’t do it!” He was starting to sound desperate, movements getting shakier. An animal trapped and terrified as the hunter aimed their bow.

“Well, then the court will prove your innocence,” was all Tubbo said before they reached the building, holding his arm out in gesture for Tommy to walk forward. The boy didn’t move, gulping audibly as he looked around in disbelief. Other citizens had shown up, must have overheard their conversation and decided to follow. Niki and Ranboo were amongst the small crowd, and Tommy’s eyes widened with hope when he noticed them, as if the siblings somehow held a precious lifeline.

Quackity was the first to move, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he bent down to speak to him quietly. “I can represent you,” he told him, watching as Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

“ _You_? The fuck kind of qualifications do you have?” he demanded, voice climbing and climbing in terror, thinly veiled behind spitting rage. Quackity didn’t have time to explain that before he had come here, he had been shadowing a lawyer in his old city, before Tubbo was placing a firm grip on Tommy’s arm, leading him towards one of the cells that lined the side of the courtroom.

“Tommy, I need you to stand in there,” Tubbo said sternly.

“No,” the boy refused, folding his arms in petulant resistance. He yelped out in objection when George roughly pushed him inside, rolling his eyes before he stepped back, slamming the barred door shut in Tommy’s face.

The boy gripped onto the bars with a scowl, spitting down at George’s boots as he rattled the door. He didn’t stop when Tubbo approached him, breathing only getting heavier. He continued tugging on the iron bars, as if he could rip them out of the ground with sheer might. “Help me out here,” Tubbo pleaded, placing a hand on top of Tommy’s. The other boy refused to speak, blue eyes clouding over.

“I’m on your side here,” Tubbo tried, face hurt.

“Then get me out of this fucking box,” Tommy yelled. He was looking at Tubbo with a face he usually kept reserved for Dream. “I have rights,” he hissed.

“Tommy,” Tubbo started, walking away from the cell as he took the judge’s seat. “When you burned someone’s house down, you voided those rights.” Tommy let out a cruel laugh, kicking at the bars roughly. The sound screamed through the room.

“You can’t void rights!” he objected until Quackity stepped in front of him, hissing at him to shut up. He let go of the bars with a growl like sigh, stepping away from them, retreating further into the cell.

“Dream and George have sufficient evidence that the defendant burned down George’s house,” Tubbo said, voice loud around the room. He gestured towards where George sat, hand welcoming. The man stood up, nodding before he started.

“Yesterday, I go to check my house and find that it has been burned down. I’ve done nothing wrong; I tell myself. Why would-”

The now raspy voice from inside the cell interrupted him. “Well you’re _colourblind_.” George’s eyes flashed with irritation, and Quackity had to bite down on the smile that threatened to dance on his face.“Tommy, you’ll have your turn to speak,” Tubbo warned before he motioned for George to continue.

“I wonder who burned my house down. Who would even want to burn my house down? I ask around, people tell me it was Tommy. But there was another name brought up from citizens of your own land.”

“Huh?” Tubbo asked, brows knotting together as he looked down at George. The older man merely turned slowly, tilting his head and smirking at someone else in the audience.

“Ranboo,” he breathed, voice like a scythe through the air.

“What?” Niki barked out from beside her brother, grey eyes wide. Fundy moved as Tubbo ordered him to a cell from his spot, holding his arms out to Ranboo. The boy went without resistance, stumbling once before the cell door slammed shut behind him too. He looked absolutely terrified, jaw trembling and instantly walking back until his back hits the wall.

“Tubbo, Tubbo no!” Tommy cried out, shoving his face through his own cell’s bars. “Ranboo is a civilian! You’ve heard the word of him,” he spits, gesturing to George through the bars as he shakes his head desperately. “And put him in a cell. Tubbo, Tubbo, I have witnesses. Niki, Puffy and Ranboo, isn’t that right, Niki?” Tommy yelled as his eyes shot towards Niki, who was looking to her brother, hands in her hair. Tommy let go of a barely restrained scream of frustration when she didn’t answer him.

“You will have your time to speak, Tommy,” Tubbo said again, before he turned from Tommy to the other teenager they had locked in a cell. “Ranboo, please.”

“Well, I do have extremely bad short term memory loss. And I don’t know what it’s from but it’s from…it’s from something…” he trailed off with an awkward, lopsided smile, throat bobbing as everyone stared at him. He opened his mouth to ramble again, but Tubbo cut him off, turning to Tommy. The blond boy was staring at Ranboo as he shivered in his cell, swearing under his breath as he kicked the wall. He screwed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The fact that he can’t remember is not looking good, Tommy,” Tubbo sighed. Tommy’s eyes flashed open, and he nodded, eyes darting around the room before the focused on Tubbo.

“Okay Tubbo, alright.” A pause. An inhale of breath. “It was the perfect crime, alright? And no one saw me, alright?” He was rambling, licking his bottom lip like he was dying of thirst. Tubbo’s face fell, and Quackity watched with a rising chest as he slumped back into his chair, hands over his face.

“He’s admitted it!” George laughed, grin wide and encompassing. His smile was maybe big enough to outweigh the horror shooting through Quackity’s veins.

“They are overreacting!” Tommy yelled, borderline screaming as he tugged at the bars. “Dream building massive walls? That’s insane! I just stole some of his shit.” He shrugged, gesturing towards George like he was dirt on his boot. “In my defence, I didn’t think you’d see.”

George’s left eye twitched. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” he shouted, ignoring the way Tommy had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Ironically, it was maybe the most alive Quackity had seen the teenager in months.

“Tubbo, I’ve come forward now, and I don’t see why I am being punished, so…let me out,” he said, flicking a finger against an iron bar. Tubbo’s hands dropped from his face, revealing the cast of torture playing on the President’s face.

“Tommy, I have been advised to _banish_ you,” he said, voice wavering. Tommy was shockingly quiet, for a moment. And then outrage contorted his face, fists strangled with white.

“What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck?” he yelled; voice hoarse. “It was a prank. George is just a fucking pussy!” he laughed, the sound horrible and broken, as he threw up a middle finger in George’s direction.

“Tommy!” Tubbo cried out, slamming a fist down on the desk in front of him. “Quiet, be quiet. Just shut up!” He tried to collect himself, taking in a shaky breath as he rested his head on a trembling hand. “Exile is an extreme measure, and I hope we can appease both parties with a probation. George, Tommy will be stripped of his power, and everything he does, he will have to report to Fundy.”

Mocking laughs filled the room as Tommy’s eyes widened in revulsion. Quackity couldn’t even bring himself to speak. Tommy had fucked up. And he had lied and tried to manipulate them. He deserved his punishment. Especially if it would keep Dream away from L’Manberg. But he couldn’t help the feeling in his chest as he watched Tommy’s whole body almost deflate, head hitting the wall.

“Tommy, as of now, you are on probation. This is your last chance.”

“Or what?” Tommy questioned, but it lacked the violence Quackity was pretty sure he intended.

“Or you will be exiled.” Tubbo’s words hung heavily in the air. Tommy shook his head, almost a twitch. “Probation. Next two weeks. Report to Fundy.”

“What? Tubbo, this is insane,” Tommy begged, looking younger than he ever had as Tubbo stepped down from his chair and paused in front of the cell.

“It may be insane, however, Tommy-”

“There are walls around our home!”

Tubbo’s face snapped with anger, all the sympathy and kindness gone from his face. “And I am hoping this conclusion will satisfy Dream and we can get the walls down.”

“But he can’t just do that in the first place!” Tommy continued, head still shaking, shoulders still quivering under the weight of it all. “He can’t just build walls because-”

“George is the king! This is considered treason,” Tubbo cut him off. Said King stayed where he was sat, legs crossed and leaning back with a smile on his face, even as his dark eyes stayed hardened. Quackity wondered if George was even aware he was wearing a mask. At least his psychotic boyfriend was upfront about it, ceramic white like a curse. And George just stood to his side, smiling painfully. He wondered if he was happy, as King. With Dream.

“This guy went to war with us! He has tried to kill us,” Tommy snarled, eyes flicking back towards George who stood up, the tips of his ears going red. “I was not involved in that war,” he hissed. It was true, to an extent, Quackity supposed. He hadn’t been at the battle. Had chosen to do his best to stay out of it. And yet here he was, a smooth, red slice against his neck.

“You’re on probation for the next two weeks, Tommy,” Tubbo declared. And before the blond could object, their President was pulling the lever beside the cell, watching as the floor below Tommy disappeared, dropping him down and out of sight. Fundy and Tubbo turned away, speaking to George as Tommy cried out in panic. “Tubbo, what the fuck?”

After pulling the door to the cell open, Quackity dropped down to his knees, reaching out a hand. He felt Tommy grip onto it, fingers rough and scarred against his own, and he grunted as he helped haul the kid up. Tommy stumbled, gripping onto the wall as he watched Tubbo with wide, pained eyes.

“Mr president?” A guard Quackity didn’t recognise asked, gesturing to Ranboo who was still shivering in his cell, green and red eyes flashing towards Tommy. “What are we to do with him?”

“He was an accomplice,” George accused, lips curling into a sneer. Tommy shoved forward, elbowing George roughly out of the way so he could stand protectively in front of Ranboo’s cell. “He wasn’t there! He wasn’t there, man,” Tommy said, voice edging on a beg.

A moment paused, thick silence, before Tubbo nodded, and Quackity watched as Tommy deflated in relief. No one moved as Tubbo and George left the building, two leaders of different countries untied and divided. Fundy followed, helping Niki get Ranboo out of the cell. The teenager tried to glance towards Tommy as Niki walked with her arm around his shoulder, but Tommy had sat down against the wall, head buried in his hands.

Slowly as all the citizens dispersed, he was left with the accused. “Hey,” he tried to say as softly as he could, bending down beside Tommy. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home, man.” Tommy looked up, face wearily frustrated, knowing he was cornered, knowing he was trapped. But unable to do anything about it.

He nodded but didn’t take the hand Quackity extended to him. Pushing himself up, he rubbed at his nose, and they walked in silence back to L’Manberg. As they came up to a bridge, lying over a small river, Quackity noticed Dream across the other bank before Tommy did. Hesitating, he tried to shake his head, silently begging for Dream to leave. But the other man wasn’t even looking in his direction. And when Tommy looked up from his scuffed shoes, breathing hitching, Dream waved.

A snarl left Tommy’s lips as he started off quickly, fingers clenching into fists as he made noises that were barely human, bloodthirsty and dangerous. Quackity caught onto him before he could rip Dream’s throat out with his teeth, and even as the boy thrashed, kicking the heel of his boot into Quackity’s foot repeatedly in an attempt to get him off, he clutched onto him.

“That’s not going to fix anything,” he hissed into Tommy’s ear as Dream laughed, goading and looming. “It’s not worth it. Tommy, it isn’t worth it.” The words seemed to sink into the younger boy, and as Dream disappeared, like he always did, Tommy let himself collapse into Quackity’s arms, head lolling against his chest as he shuddered. He stilled before he pat Tommy on the back, in what he hoped was comfort.

He didn’t say anything when he felt a dampness sink through his shirt, didn’t say anything when Tommy pulled away and red lined his eyes. He didn’t speak when they reached L’Manberg and Tommy disappeared into his house, door slamming behind him. Because what was there to say?


	4. I Don't Give a Fuck

There was a crick in his neck. That was the first thing Tommy realised when he woke up in his house, not the townhouse in L'Manburg with its wooden floors and flowerboxes, his real house. But he guessed that was what happened when you slept on the floor.

He uncurled himself, letting the blanket that he’d tucked around his shoulders slip onto the floor. He’d taken to sleeping there, but he still hadn’t found a bed. But the blanket would do until it got colder. And he could always build a fire, he guessed.

Pawing at his eyes, he pushed himself up to his feet. He just couldn’t stay in L’Manburg. Not when everyone looked at him as he walked past like he was a monster. Like he wasn’t the one who had fucking saved all of them. Like he wasn’t the literal reason they all had a land to call their own. Not when Tubbo, who was supposed to be his best fucking friend, wouldn’t even look him in the eyes. When he was considering fucking exiling him, considering choosing Dream over him. When it was Tommy who had practically given him his presidency in the goddamn first place.

Exhaling shakily, Tommy pulled off his shirt in exchange for a clean one, before he started to make his way towards the door, ruffling his hair in an attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable. His eyes fell on the folded-up coat lying neatly from where he’d been sleeping. Why the fuck did he have to look presentable for Dream?

He snatched up the coat, pulling it on and shaking out the sleeves. He shouldered it over him, running his fingers down the brown seams. It still reeked of ash and was slightly singed and blackened in bits. But if he pretended, he could imagine Wilbur’s arms around him. Not the Wilbur who had blown up their home, or the ghost who wore his dead brother’s name.

His brother. His brother would have been on his side. Wilbur wouldn’t have ever exiled him.

Kicking open the door, the cruel wind hissed at his face, tugging at his ears. His lips parted in surprise when he found a house close to his, flags surrounding it. When the fuck had that gotten there? A snarl ripped itself through Tommy as he grabbed a piece of spare parchment from his chest, gripping a pen in his fist as he stormed towards the house.

He hadn’t noticed it when he’d stumbled into his house last night, the darkness meaning he could barely see what was in front of his own two feet. Peering into the windows of the new house on his fucking land, Tommy could make out a practically empty house, just with a bed pushed up into the side and useless shit littered all over the floor. He took a step back, gritting his teeth when he saw the name crappily carved into the door.

Fucking Connor.

He didn’t even know when the asshole had arrived, but all he’d done, since the day Tommy had met him, was piss him off. Using the door to lean on, he scrawled down an eviction notice, informing Connor that this was his fucking land and he needed to eloquently, get to fuck before he came and burned his house down.

Pushing the letter under the door, Tommy shoved the pen into his pocket, and started off towards L’Manburg, ready for the onslaught once again.

_Tommy, you fucked up. Tommy, you don’t understand. Tommy, you’re insane. Tommy, you’re an idiot. We’d be better off without you._

It was the same fucking tune over and over again. Same voices, same threats, blah, blah, blah. Well, he had a plan this time. He’d show them. Tubbo would finally see that he was right. And he was gracious, so maybe he wouldn’t tell them he told them so when they were forced to eat crow.

_“You need to come,” Tubbo said. Tommy rolled his eyes as his fingers dug into his door, tempted to slam it in Tubbo’s face. It was the middle of the fucking night, and Tubbo had turned up onto his doorstep, rambling about some meeting with Dream._

_“I do?” he asked, biting down on his tongue. “Says who?”_

_“Says me,” Tubbo said sharply, folding his arms. “Your President.”_

_T_ _ommy’s breathing hitched as he looked down at his friend. All he offered Tubbo before he shut the door was a tight nod of his head. Tubbo stayed there for a minute, before he sighed and turned on his heels, making his way back towards his own home. Tommy just leaned back against the door, slumping down onto the floor with a cracked, dry sob._

He crossed through the obsidian walls, throat tightening as he realised that they were taller than they had been before. A lot taller. Climbing up into the camarvan, he hesitated before he pulled the door open. Three faces turned to meet his, conversation halting instantly. He ignored the whisper in his ear, the voice that was spitting cruel untruths.

_They don’t trust you. They think it’s your fault. You must show them. Prove them wrong. Prove them all wrong. Prove yourself worthy._

He didn’t take his seat, choosing to stay leaned against the wall as he cleared his throat, attempting to cut through the awkward silence. “I still don’t know what the fuck I’ve done wrong here,” he started, frowning when the three of them groaned. Well, Quackity and Fundy did, Tubbo just sat unwavering, blue eyes unrecognisable.

“Oh, come on,” Fundy sighed tiredly into his hands which were covering his face. “We already did this.”

A smile quirked up onto Tommy’s lips. “Oh, the whole burning thing.”

“The whole burning thing,” Quackity nodded, dark eyes wide. “The whole robbery thing.”

“Tommy, you have to be on your best behaviour today, please,” Tubbo said quietly, too softly. “Because you could be exiled today, and we don’t want that.” Tommy snorted, rolling his eyes. They’d see soon. His plan was fool proof. Even if everything went all tits up, there was no way Tubbo would actually exile him. You don’t exile your brothers.

“You’re not going to fucking exile me, man,” Tommy smiled, waving a dismissive hand. But Tubbo ignored him, cutting right through his words as two fists dug into his arm rests, eyes trained onto Tommy’s.

“You have to agree to everything Dream says. You have to be nice, and you have to say sorry. Hopefully he’ll agree the probation is enough, and we can walk out of there incredibly happy.”

“Tubbo, I am always incredibly happy,” Tommy said as he leaned forward, widening his eyes. He hoped Tubbo would understand, as he tried to silently convey to him that he had a plan, that they were going to be okay. He was going to get them out of this mess. But Tubbo’s eyes just fell, head hanging slightly as he stood from his chair, refusing to look at Tommy.

“Right, okay,” he murmured. He went to say something else to Tubbo, something that would make him understand, would make him trust Tommy, but Quackity spoke before he could figure out what to do.

“Tommy,” Quackity said, shaking his head as he also stood up, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He shrugged him off, unable to meet his eyes. Quackity had seen him break down, had seen him lose his grip. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Tommy, what you don’t understand is that you have put us in such an awkward position here.”

A sneer curled on his lips as he blinked down at Quackity. Who the fuck did he even think he was? Who did any of them think they were? They weren’t the leaders, none of them were ever meant to be the leaders. That was meant to be Wilbur, and even when Wilbur went a bit fucking insane, they still had Technoblade to make sure everything was running smoothly. Now they had no one. That was what _they_ didn’t see.

“We have to do what’s best for our nation,” Tubbo said as he passed Tommy, pulling the door open and dropping down onto the grass slick with morning dew. “We need this solved peacefully. We do not have the funds to fight anyone.”

_Tommy hummed as he pushed the door open, crossing the threshold into Tubbo’s office. “How’s it going chief?” he grinned, cocking his head as he leapt up onto the desk. Tubbo sighed in acknowledgment, dropping his head into his hands._

_He didn’t understand why Tubbo was acting all depressed. They’d just finished up new L’Manburg, all the townhouses nice and polished as they sat sturdy on top of the lake._

_“What’s wrong?” he asked as he poked at Tubbo. His friend lifted his head slightly to meet his eyes._

_"_ _We’re fucking broke, Tommy,” he said, cringing at the words as he spoke. “We have no trade agreements with other settlements, no crops to sell let alone feed a city with. All our materials are gone, used up to actually build the damn place.” He was rambling. Tubbo got stressed when he rambled._

_So, Tommy just slid off the desk, grabbing Tubbo’s hands in his own as he smiled up at him. “We’ll figure it out, man. We always do.”_

“Just try and say minimal amounts in the meeting,” Tubbo said as they all stepped out of the van, eyes sliding towards Tommy. Suddenly, he felt very small. “For your sake.”

Biting on his bottom lip so hard, a spring of metal welled against his tongue, Tommy walked beside Tubbo. The only sound was from their boots against the wooden planks of the path. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of tone Tubbo,” Tommy said, the silence bordering on unbearable, the stiff air snaking around his neck. “Because you were being a real cock last time.”

Tubbo’s eyes shot towards him, wide in shock and annoyance. Tommy just smiled at him.

 _"What?_ I’m not the one who put or nation in-”

“No, listen to me Tubbo, you said that you were going to exile me.” He needed his friend to realise how insane he was being. Needed to bring his friend back from the brink of his power trip. This is what Wilbur had wanted. Had wanted to put Tubbo in charge to fuck with Tommy, one sort of last fuck you before he burned by his own hand. Tommy wouldn’t let it destroy them. Not Wilbur, not Dream. No one could come in-between them.

“No, I said it was an option,” Tubbo said calmly, turning forward as he picked up his pace. For a boy with visibly shorter legs, he was going fucking fast, and Tommy practically had to run to keep up with him.

“Yeah, and if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t even consider exiling you. I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. I’d bail you out.” Tubbo didn’t look at him, wouldn’t even meet his eyes as they came up to the Holy Lands.

“Tommy,” Fundy started, gripping onto Tommy’s wrist so he slowed down. He snatched it out of his grip, crinkling his nose. Fundy’s eyes narrowed, but he continued on anyway. “The difference between you two is that you care more about yourself. And Tubbo is being realistic here and thinking about what’s best for his country.”

His jaw hung open; eyes unblinking as he stared at Fundy. Like fuck was that what he really thought. Is that what they all really thought? Were they all this fucking stupid? Could none of them see the truth?

“Thank you, Fundy,” Tubbo said, nodding in acknowledgment as he continued walking down the stairs towards the building where they were to meet. Tommy’s feet felt frozen to the ground, his whole body unwilling to move with shock and horror and disgust. But then Quackity tugged at his sleeve gently, and everything started to unravel, his mind rolling and rolling and rolling.

He wordlessly followed forward, pausing when they all stopped at the door. He watched as Tubbo’s rolled his shoulders back and exhaled, face a cast of sincerity and gravity. If he was anyone else, he would’ve missed the terror that danced behind his eyes. If he was anyone else but Tubbo’s best friend, maybe he would’ve missed the way the President faltered as his fingers met the door handle, pushing down and out. But he wasn’t anyone else, and he saw it all. Saw how Tubbo carried himself the same way as he had into battle, but instead of wearing armour and bearing an axe, he was all decorated up in his navy suit and sheathing his diplomatic smile.

But he had a plan. Tubbo didn’t need to be worried. Didn’t need to negotiate with Dream.

Because Tommy was going to beat the fucker to the ground. Dream would kneel, Dream would cower and bow before him. Dream would bend his fucking knee.

“ _Minimal words_.” Fundy hissing in his ear as he passed him tore Tommy out of his reverie, images of Dream recoiling with fear in front of him gone as he was pushed inside the building, replaced with a very real Dream, sitting at the table already. He was slouched in his chair, one leg thrown over the other. A netherite sword was in one hand, point resting in the floor, scratching into the wood as Dream turned it, spinning with a horrible scraping sound.

Tommy balked at the sight of it, body freezing in horror as his fingers started to thud with a dull pain. Or, the space where his fingers should have been. Where they had been, before Dream had sliced them off with that very blade.

He wasn’t going to be quiet. He was going to be loud. He was going to goad Dream into his downfall, scream and scream and scream like he had been craving to do for months now.

“Hello,” Dream grinned as the four of them sat down. Tubbo opposite Dream, sitting with his back straight, perched at the end of the seat. Fundy and Quackity to his left. Tommy alone at the right. 

“Did you bring a book and quill?” Dream asked, tapping his fingers along the hilt of the blade. It was still flecked in blood. Still flecked in his blood. Tommy resisted the urge to screw his eyes shut as bile crawled its way up his throat. He instead kept his eyes on the middle of the table, even as he felt Dream’s eyes drill into him.

“We have a minutes man,” Tubbo said, and as if on cue, the door was pried open slowly, and Ranboo stuck his head in, coloured hair looking dishevelled as he smiled shyly. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he walked over to a spare seat at the side, clutching a book so tightly to his chest, his knuckles were strangled with white.

“Dream, you said you had something you wanted to address,” Tubbo said, and Tommy felt his breathing hitch. He bit down the urge to scream out his plan, to tell them it was alright, that he had it sorted. Resisted the urge to snatch Dream’s blade out of his hand and skewer it straight through his fucking chest. He calmed his breathing, shifting in his chair.

“Yeah, well, I told you before. I want Tommy exiled,” Dream drawled, tilting his head.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tubbo nodded, biting on his top lip.

“I gave you three days,” Dream said slowly.

“I’m just trying to think of any other alternatives-”

“What’s your proposition then?” Dream interrupted Tubbo, resting his head on the hand that wasn’t brandishing his steel. “Because I’ve put a lot of effort into putting those walls up. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but they’ve actually doubled in size since the last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, I did. I did…uh, notice,” Tubbo nodded along, crossing his legs. “I really want this to come to a peaceful resolution, where we don’t have to exile anyone, we want the best for the-”

“But you’re considering it, right?” Dream asked in a way that seemed like Tubbo had no other choice than to consider it. Tommy almost snorted, Tubbo’s eyes sliding to his as he held his breath. It was like Dream had tightened the noose.

“It’s an option on the table but it’s the last resort,” Tubbo declared after a moment’s hesitation. Tommy’s heart dropped, but he refused to look at his friend. He clamped his hands firmly together in his lap and made the mistake of glancing up at Dream.

The older man was smirking right at him, and if Tommy was a little less Tommy, he would’ve shrunk at the sight of it. But he had been through two wars, all thanks to the fucker who was now grinning at him as Tubbo spoke like the cat who’d got the cream. If he could survive them, he could keep his mouth shut for a little bit longer.

“I think what the President is trying to say, is that we are willing to compromise,” Quackity said, interrupting Tubbo. Dream’s head moved from Tommy’s direction towards the man speaking as he dropped further down into his seat. “Tommy has been on his best behaviour, he’s made reports, he’s willing to compromise. We can even maybe keep the walls perhaps?” Tommy cringed at that sudden decision from Quackity, wincing slightly.

“Maybe not forever,” Tubbo cut in, shooting Quackity a dark glare.

“Not forever, not forever. But by the end of his probation, Tommy will be a changed man, so I think we leave it at that?”

Dream was silent for a moment before he gestured to Tubbo with his hand, sighing like he was getting bored. “What’s the proposition?”

Tubbo nodded eagerly, swallowing audibly. “Ok here’s what I’m thinking. Tommy remains on probation, and I know that isn’t what you want Dream but-”

“How long?”

“For at least two more weeks, two if not three-” Tommy groaned as he shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Tommy, shut up,” Tubbo hissed.

“Sorry, please,” Tommy mocked as he dropped his hands from his face, a scowl planted firmly on his face. “I was just poking my fucking eyes out.” Tubbo merely shook his head at him, as if Tommy was some sort of fucking pest, before he turned back to Dream, an apologetic smile on his face. Dream just watched them all blankly, hidden behind his mask.

“So, while Tommy is on probation, I propose that the walls can stay. Possibly not grow but they can stay, and if Tommy so much as breaths in the wrong direction-”

“They grow. They double.” Tubbo nodded begrudgingly.

“If Tommy breathes in the wrong direction, the walls double, and the probation extends until he is eighteen.” Eighteen? When the fuck was that decided? Dream’s low, gravelly laugh scratched its way down Tommy’s neck, and he leaned forward, begging Tubbo to look at him. He did, but his face was unforgiving and vacant. Unfamiliar.

“Look at me being calm, okay?” he said, voice rising a pitch. “Dream is taunting me. He’s smiling and shit. He’s being all-”

Dream scoffed, shaking his head as he laughed mockingly. “Come on now, I’m smiling? _Really_ Tommy?” He laughed again before he turned back to Tubbo, the blade on the sword scratching forward as he leaned towards the table. “I actually like your idea. He’s on probation for three weeks, and if he does anything, then it extends, and the walls get taller. If he behaves perfectly well, then the walls come down.”

Tubbo nodded enthusiastically as he held a hand out, hair falling into his face. “Can I have the minutes please, Ranboo? I’ll write up an agreement.” As Ranboo stood up and scuttled over to Tubbo, Tommy flopped back into his chair, purposefully ignoring Dream, even as the older man mouthed, have fun on probation, in his direction. Tommy flipped him off in response. He wasn’t that great at ignoring people.

“So, once you’ve signed this, you’ve agreed Dream?” Tubbo said as he stretched his arm across the table, ink still wet on the pages.

“Yep,” Dream said, popping the last syllable as he moved his hand in impatience in the air. Tubbo clenched his jaw before he nodded stiffly, passing over the heavy book. It passed from his small fingers, flecked with scars that were already too much, to hands almost double in size. Hands that thought they could crush the world that rested in the palms that were more scar than flesh.

“Sign it,” Tommy breathed through a grin. He was so close. They were so close. And the fucking knobhead didn’t even see it coming. Dream’s empty, harrowing mask snapped up towards him, crude smile mocking. “Sign it,” he hissed, standing up out of his chair and leaning further onto the table. He ignored the rigid looks the rest of his cabinet were giving him.

“Tommy, you agree?” Dream asked, and it was the first hint of suspicion the other man had had all day. He hated the way Dream said his name, like he was a dish on a menu he was ordering. Like he was lesser, smaller. Like he was pathetic. “You know what?” Dream grinned, clapping his hands on the book. “I want you to sign it first.”

Tommy shrugged, the smile on his face all teeth as Dream handed him the book and quill. He flicked through the pages, ignoring the words completely until he found Tubbo’s name. Quill hesitating slightly on the page as it dripped ink down beside Tubbo’s scrawl, he quickly wrote down his own name before he slammed the book back shut. He slid it over to Dream with a satisfied huff.

Dream paused, shoulder jerking with slight confusion at Tommy’s willingness, before he picked up the book. “On this day, we have agreed that Tommy will remain on probation for three weeks and that during that time the walls that are at L’Manburg will remain also. If Tommy so much as walks out of line, the probation will be extended till he is eighteen and the walls will double in size.”

He looked up, not having to read from the page for the last part as he drawled, tongue flicking out to lick at his bottom lip. “Signed by Tubbo and Tommy.” A huff of disbelief sounded before he nodded. “Dream,” he said, finishing off his signature by twirling the pen in his fingers, like it was also a weapon just like the sword hanging at his side.

“And now it’s in writing,” Tubbo said, relief flooding his voice when Dream handed the book back, practically clutching it to his chest. Tommy shook his head, barking with laughter.

“You’ve agreed then!” he exclaimed as he grinned towards Dream like they were old friends in on a private joke. “You’ve agreed then that I can…” he trailed off as he raked two hands through blond hair. “Well, that was easy, now we get to take down the wall,” he declared, cringing when shouts erupted out around him. But one person’s voice cut through the outcry, just like it always did.

“No, no, the wall stays up, Tommy,” Dream said, and hidden behind the layers of patronising and sarcasm and amusement was genuine irritation, frying and hot. “For three weeks. Maybe once you’re well behaved, the wall can be taken down. But for now, it stays.”

And God, the look on his face was so beautiful, so hilarious, because he thought he’d won. He still thought he’d beaten Tommy. That Tommy had let him beat him. He was expecting him to sit down, sit down and take the bullshit punishment. He was not expecting Tommy to practically giggle, shaking his head as he wiped away a mock tear.

“No,” he breathed through the laughter. “ _Fuck you_.” Dream’s grin completely slipped, lips pressing firmly together.

“We agreed, Tommy!” Fundy exclaimed from behind him, voice torn. “We agreed, you signed it!”

Tommy continued to shake his head as he glanced towards his friends. “God, I’m a genius.” He slipped his hand into Wilbur’s pocket, fingers running over the hide he’d hidden in there months ago. “I am a fucking mastermind.”

“Why?” Quackity barked out as he stood up. “What are you-”

But Tommy cut him off, because Quackity didn’t understand. None of them understood yet. But they would. Oh, they would. “Dream, how many of my discs do you have on you?”

“I have zero."

Tommy nodded slowly, walking over to the older man, even as tanned hands fell on the sword’s hilt. “And you know the only thing I want from you is my discs,” he said, practically purring. Dream’s jaw twitched.

“Well, Skeppy has one and Tubbo has one,” he said, as if Tommy didn’t already know that. As if they didn’t all already know that.

“So, you have none, Dream,” Tommy leered, stopping a foot away from the other man. “You fucking idiot.” Tommy could practically feel the anger rippling off of Dream, even as he stayed silent. He’d been outplayed, and he was slowly realising it. He had been outplayed by a seventeen-year-old. The same kid he had tried to kill months ago, the same kid he had duelled at sixteen. The same fucking kid kept winning.

Tommy wondered how infuriating that must be. How pathetic and small it must make Dream feel.

“Dream, you know nothing,” Tommy whispered, so only the two of them could hear it. Dream’s fingers twitched, as if he might strangle Tommy right there and then. But this was the Holy Lands. And Tommy was untouchable.

“What the hell is he on about?” Quackity’s voice demanded from somewhere in the room.

“You signed the goddamn document,” Fundy added, followed by a sound that was very similar to someone punching a table. Tommy ignored them. They weren’t realising, but Dream was.

“Dream, all this time you go around thinking you’re the shit,” he laughed, imagining how unhinged with power his eyes were as Dream breathed heavily. “But I am not getting exiled because my friend, you have nothing of mine!” He felt weightless. Like air. Like he could do anything. Drain the seas, pull the stars from the sky. He held out his arms, Wilbur’s ruined, charred sleeves fanning out.

“A long time ago I got something of yours, Dream. Are you familiar with your old pet horse?” Dream didn’t reply, but Tommy could see his jaw rolling under the mask. “What was its name?” he whispered, eyes and soul ablaze with victory.

“Spirit.”

 _“Spirit!_ ” Tommy clapped his hands as he let out a laugh, cruel and disdainful. Something he had picked up on all the fucking psychopaths he had surrounded himself with. Schlatt, Techno, Wilbur. All had the same laugh. _Dream_.

“Months ago, months ago, I retrieved spirits remains, something that means so very much to you. And yet, you have nothing on me. Nothing.”

Dream stepped forward, his hand falling from his sword. It was a beautiful weapon, engraved with a dragon, veiny wings of black spread out as if in an embrace with the sharp edge. “I don’t even know if you still-”

Tommy pulled out the neat square of leather he’d sliced from the larger hide from his pocket before Dream could even finish his sentence.

“I’ve been holding onto this for so long. And everyone thinks that you have this power, but you don’t have anything. You’re just some asshole in netherite armour. You don’t have anything on us anymore.”

Silence fell, beautiful, adoring silence, as the gravity of the situation settled into everyone in the room. Tommy shuddered in the glory of it all, nails digging into the leather as he stepped forward, boot falling heavily.

“You’re my bitch now,” he breathed. Dream snarled viciously, fingers reaching out, when something tugged Tommy backwards, Dream’s hand falling through the air.

“Tommy, you’re speaking out of line,” Tubbo implored as he gripped onto his shoulders, eyes wide and pleading. He still didn’t get it. But it was alright, Tommy would show him. Tommy would make Tubbo understand.

“I can speak out of line, what does he have on us?”

“He has the power to destroy our nation,” Tubbo cried out, fingers digging in harder.

“Yeah but-”

Tubbo cut him off, dropping Tommy’s shoulders and turning his head away, like it was paining him to look. “You’re being selfish,” he spat.

“Look at me, look at me,” Tommy pleaded, needing Tubbo to understand. Tubbo needed to understand. Why wasn’t he understanding? He gripped onto Tommy’s shoulders, forcing him to look into his eyes. All he received was a blank stare, a jutted-out jaw. “He’s had the discs this whole time! But not anymore. He has nothing!”

“He has shit on _us_!” Fundy objected, and Tommy’s throat suddenly felt very dry and his friend all looked at him with wide, terrified and betrayed eyes. They still didn’t understand, fuck.

“What if I get the disc, Tommy?” He spun back around, letting go of Tubbo to meet Dream’s gaze. Desperation was dripping into his southern drawl. “What if I go get it right now?”

“I will burn Spirit,” Tommy hissed in response before he turned to his friends with an unhinged jaw. “Why is no one else freaking out right now?”

“Because you’re being selfish!” Tubbo yelled.

“How?” Tommy demanded, gesturing to Dream as he stood, helpless. “He has nothing on me! And I have Spirit on you,” he spat, turning towards the older man. “The only thing that means anything to you. And I have it, so Dream, I think from now on you’re not in any position to be in charge of us.”

“What are you saying you want then?” Dream asked quietly, head hanging. Behind him, Quackity and Fundy shared a look, gripping onto each other’s hands in anticipation.

“Dream, you’re gonna take down those walls.”

He nodded once, before he turned on his heels and left the building. Tommy sprinted after him, Fundy and Quackity whooping and hollering as they followed, not quite believing what was happening before their very eyes. Dream was taller than all of them by a fair amount, his long legs stiffly carrying him to L’Manburg as they yelled in victory. Tommy felt like a god as Quackity draped an arm over his shoulder, pounding a fist into the air with a grin.

“Let’s fucking go!” he laughed loudly as Tommy grinned under his hold, squeezing his shoulder. “The fall of Dream!” Quackity sang out, and his words washed over Tommy, and he finally felt like he was clean of it all. Of the war, of the fighting, of the bloodshed. With Fundy on his right, and Quackity on his left, he felt warm again, that incessant coldness that had buried itself into his gut like shrapnel.

And then he turned, meeting Tubbo’s narrowed and wary gaze, the cold threatened to blow over him again. He unhooked himself from his friends’ arms, pausing as he waited for Tubbo to catch up. The other boy didn’t hesitate, continued forward even as he passed Tommy, keeping his head forward.

“This is a really bad idea,” he said, half yelling, half whispering as he refused to look at Tommy.

“He has nothing on us!” he avowed through gritted teeth as they reached the walls of L’Manburg. “And I have Spirit.”

“This is a bad idea,” was all Tubbo hissed, eyes scraping over Tommy as he pushed past. Before he could continue trying to make Tubbo see the light of the fucking day, Quackity was grinning up at Dream, tapping him on the shoulder with a condescending quirk of his head.

“Take the walls down old man,” he winked, shoving a pick into Dream’s chest. Tubbo’s whole body twitched as Dream let loose a silent, restrained exhale.

“Tubbo, the only reason why he put those walls up in the first place was to get you to turn on me!” Tommy said as he came up beside him, whispering into his ear. He didn’t want to make a fucking scene, but Tubbo was forcing his hand. “He overreacted to get you to turn on me and it is not going to work. I’m not going to let it work.”

The sound of the pick hitting against the obsidian walls screamed throughout the whole country. Tommy watched, lips parted in awe at the sight, the sight he had caused, as Dream pulled his arms back, and the pick smashed into the walls. Again. And again. And again.

“There was a peaceful way to do this!” Tubbo shouted over the sound, fisting his hair as he looked from Tommy to Dream. “We didn’t have to do this.”

“There’s no peace, not anymore,” Tommy denounced.

Tubbo’s face fell, bottom lip quivering in what Tommy assumed was anxiety. He was wrong. “This was meant to be a new era.” Tommy mistook the quietness in Tubbo’s voice for worry, for concern. He was wrong.

“Not if he’s putting up walls everywhere,” Tommy argued back, ready to fight Tubbo on this, when shouts of protest interrupted him. Tubbo and Tommy turned from each other, watching as Fundy and Quackity croaked out cries of objection. Because Dream had decided to stop taking down the wall for some reason, and was now making them higher.

“What are you doing?” Tommy demanded as he pushed forward so he was standing right at the foot of the wall. Dream paused, and Tommy could see him breathing, slowly and certain, before he turned on his heels, jumping down right in front of him. Tommy arched a brow in surprise, confused as to how he hadn’t just broken all the bones in his fucking legs from that, but Dream was already shoving his finger into Tommy’s chest.

“Okay, listen you fucked up this time.” His voice was low, unmasked by amusement and mystery. It was raw wrath dripping from his tongue, neck flushed in red anger as Tommy knocked his hand away with an eye roll.

He tried to laugh as he Dream took on a wide stance. “Dream, Dream, come on,” he said, ignoring the way his voice broke off at the end. Everyone else heard. It did nothing to stamp out the rage apparent in Dream’s body.

“No, no I don’t give a fuck about Spirit!” He was yelling now, screaming, and Tommy felt the pit in his stomach open up again, trying desperately to pull him down. Drag him down into himself, where Dream couldn’t hurt him. But he couldn’t retreat, even if he had wanted to. He was stuck here, under Dream’s burning gaze.

“I don’t give a fuck about anything, actually. I care about _your_ discs. I care more about your discs than you do. They are the only things I care about in this country. I don’t care about Spirit. I care about your discs because that is what gives me power over you and your friends and everything you care about.”

Tommy had never felt like he was dying before. Not when Dream slashed half his hand off. Not when L’Manburg was blown up in the War for Independence and he had almost drowned, water clawing at his throat. Not when he had been slowly ebbing away in the caves, wondering if malnutrition would get him before the cold. He had never felt like he might actually die. But standing here, skin boiling under Dream’s flames, he thought maybe he was treading the line.

“So, if you are not exiled from L’Manburg, I will build these walls until you cannot see them anymore,” Dream seethed through his teeth. “I will keep everyone inside. I will have guards to patrol keeping them inside. No trade, no one leaves, or they will be slaughtered from inside.” Dream was silent for a moment, and Tommy could feel his knees begging to collapse as the mask’s haunting gaze stayed on him, as if it had decided to never leave Tommy, as if its sole purpose was Tommy.

“Don’t try and threaten me,” he said, voice quieter but sharper. The blade at his side glinted, the stains of Tommy’s blood giggling up at him. “I don’t care. I have lost all care for everything.”

“So, if I burn Spirit-” Tommy started, stumbling backwards as Dream took a step forward.

“Burn Spirit!” he screamed, hood falling from his head in the roaring, howling wind. Blond curls like spun gold gleamed down at him, like a fallen angel had come to drag Tommy down to hell, kicking and screaming. “Right here, right in front of me. Now!”

“This is the only thing…” Tommy stumbled over his words as panic seized at his mind, terror tugging at his useless tongue. “You’ve only ever had attachment to this,” he said, holding out Spirit’s hide as if it could protect him from the sword that hung at Dream’s waist.

“I have attachment to your discs,” he said plainly, taking another step forward. Tommy scrambled away.

“Why would you care, they’re mine?” He asked, voice starkly different from before. Gone was the accusation, was the victory. Replaced with trembling, desperate begging of a terrified orphan child. “They’re my discs!” he screamed out, but it wasn’t a harrowing scream of violence like Dream, it was wavering and pathetic.

“No, no Tommy.” Dream shook his head. “They’re _my_ discs.”

Tommy felt the weight of everything, of his discs, his reputation, of Tubbo and L’Manburg, of the whispers of his dead brothers, fall from the sky. It dropped right through his skull, bones cracking, and brain crushed as the weight of it plunged through his body until it fell though the soil. If only it would drag him with it.

“Listen Tubbo,” Dream said, head moving away from Tommy. “You have three days. If you don’t exile him in three days, I will do what I said.” He turned back to Tommy, curling his lip as he pulled an ender pearl from his pocket. He caressed it in his palm.

“L’Manberg can be independent but it cannot be free,” he declared, and it wasn’t the voice of the bastard who had made it his sole choice to haunt Tommy, it wasn’t the voice of the boy who had left with his brother to find a new world for themselves. It was the voice of a ruler, the ruler of them all, with the final say.

It was the words of Tommy’s executioner.

When he was gone, pearl thrown with ease, Tommy had to mentally hold his bones up, his dignity not allowing him to fall to his knees. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of Tubbo.

He was the first to speak, words damning as Tommy looked up at him, shaking his head repeatedly like a broken doll. “Tommy, you had one job. Be positive, be peaceful. And you messed it up!”

Quackity stepped up beside him, nodding his head in agreement as he folded his arms. “You really fucked this up Tommy.”

Tubbo snarled, taking a step away from Quackity as he gestured to him and Fundy with wild eyes. “No, this is on you two as well, actually.”

“We…we didn’t initiate this,” Fundy tried, throat bobbing.

“Yeah, but you went along with it!” Tubbo shouted, voice pained, and Tommy had never wanted to just fall into a bed and sob as much as he did then.

“No, no he signed it,” Quackity cut in. Tommy stepped forward, tripping slightly as he held out his hands. He frowned when he realised they were shaking horribly, shoving them into his pockets, Will’s pockets, before he spoke.

“Tubbo, he’s only doing this to get under your skin, so you turn on me,” he said, voice hoarse. “You can’t turn on me.” He whispered that part as his eyes flew up to the sky, desperately trying to blink away the stiffening madness behind them.

“No, he’s doing this to get your discs,” Tubbo snapped. “Because he _wants_ them.”

“He-” Tommy tried, but Tubbo had latched onto him now, and was unwilling to let go. Tommy took a small, hidden step backwards. But Tubbo noticed, because Tubbo noticed everything about Tommy. And his eyes flashed.

“You couldn’t do one thing for me? You couldn’t do one just one thing? And it was for your _own_ good.” He paused, hands in his face as he breathed heavily. Tommy thought it was the worst sight he’d ever seen. Worse than Tubbo stumbling through a portal, arrow embedded in his flesh as he sobbed in pain and terror, begging Tommy to win the war for them. Worse than Tubbo lying in his arms, bleeding out everywhere, face burned, and chest slashed.

But then Tubbo’s hands fell to his side, face ablaze with anger and regret and hatred, and Tommy realised this was the worst thing he had ever seen.

“So, you know what? If the roles were reversed as you said, yeah you probably wouldn’t exile me. Because I would have actually listened to you! And done what you said, and maybe had a couple scarps of respect!” His chest was heaving as he shouted. “You’ve messed this up for no one but yourself. You are selfish.” He spat out the last words. Tommy felt them burn his insides.

“What’s next? What happened, happened. We need to figure out what we do now.” he couldn’t tell who was speaking as he leaned over, stomach screaming in pain as it clenched uncomfortably. It was like someone was kicking him in the gut, over and over and over.

“We have three days.” It sounded like Tubbo was underwater. Tommy groaned, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around himself, calling out his friend’s name. Tubbo’s eyes just glanced over him, face unwavering, unsympathetic.

“I don’t want to exile you, okay?” he said, frowning deeply when Tommy latched onto his shoulders, desperation crawling over his skin.

“Tubbo, we can’t split now, it’s always been me and you, okay?” he said, words falling from his lips quicker than he could make sense of what was happening. “Please, the power is getting to your head, okay?” Tubbo clicked his tongue. Tommy ignored him.

“This isn’t what we were meant to do. It’s always been about getting back the discs. That’s what we started fighting for. There have been too many times I put them to the side for you and L’Manburg. But you can handle this,” he said, gesturing wildly to Dream’s walls as they towered over the two boys, darkness all encompassing.

Tubbo tipped his head up at him. “I _could’ve_ handled this, if you had just listened.”

“You can’t probate your friend! I would have never put you on probation, you know I would have never done that!” he snarled, unable to keep the anger and betrayal out of his voice. Tubbo’s mouth opened, face a cast of anger, but someone else spoke before he could scold Tommy again. Like they weren’t equals. Like they weren’t supposed to be fucking friends.

“Tubbo.” He hadn’t even realised Ranboo had followed them. But here he stood, clutching the hopeless agreement to his chest as he stepped forward. “You said that Tommy was selfish, that he doesn’t care about anyone. That’s not true.” He paused, shooting Tommy a small smile. He realised what Ranboo was doing before it was too late. But he didn’t stop him. If Ranboo wanted to jump into the crumbling hole with him, he was fucking welcome to it.

“I robbed George’s house too. I did it with Tommy.”

“What?” Tubbo hissed, shoving Tommy’s hands off of him as he snapped his head to glare at him. Even as Ranboo continued speaking, Tubbo’s gaze was pinned on him. 

“But in court he said it was just him. He could’ve pinned it on me, but he didn’t.”

“Tommy, is this true?”

“Yeah, it is,” he nodded, desperately hoping this would solve it. Desperately praying that Tubbo would reach out and grab onto his hand.

“He covered for me, he’s not selfish. What he did? That’s not selfish.”

Tommy took a step forward. Tubbo took one backwards.

“Tubbo, you can’t turn into the next Schlatt. If you exile me, you are walking in his footsteps,” he condemmed, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide his shaking fingers.

“If I can’t be the next Schlatt, you can’t be the next Wilbur,” Tubbo breathed, voice like poison. It was horrible to hear Wilbur’s name spoke aloud like that. It had been Ghostbur for months now, Wilbur’s name never falling from Tubbo’s lips. But here he was, comparing Tommy to the man who had destroyed their home, who had destroyed him in his death. Tubbo was being cruel. Tubbo wasn’t cruel.

“Fellas,” Quackity said, stepping in-between the two of them. “Fellas, we need to make a decision now. Tubbo, I don’t know what’s in your mind but-”

Tubbo shook his head, slowly pulling his eyes away from Tommy. “We have three days and we’re going to use them. A vote,” he declared as he looked up at the walls, the tips of the roofs of L’Manburg barely peeking over them.

“We’ll hold a vote.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone say George dethroning chapter next :D


	5. Something in the Way You Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only pain :D

George glanced up from his book, fingers stilling on the smooth pages. Dream was sitting against the windowsill, hand out as if he could touch the clouds. He didn’t look like he’d spoken, but he definitely had. He definitely fucking had.

“You don’t want me to be king?” he repeated, Dream’s words needling at his tongue as he closed the book, placing it down beside him on their bed. The sheets were cool from the fresh air, smooth and neat. They looked untouched.

Dream swallowed, before he turned to look at George, nodding slowly. His eyes were cagey as he met George’s gaze. Unable to look at him, unable to take in the blinding brilliance Dream seemed to embody, he looked down, stared at his folded legs.

“I mean it would be safer if you weren’t, right?” Dream said quietly. George didn’t reply, fingers drifting up to his neck. They grazed against the violent, ugly, harsh scar that hung like a permanent necklace around him. A constant reminder, every time he glanced in his reflection, every time Dream’s fingers grazed ever so slightly beneath his jaw. Every time he fucking breathed out, breathed in.

He stood up off of the bed, arms around himself as he stood pathetically in the middle of the room, unsure with what to do with himself. “Maybe you should have been there.” He found himself saying, the words falling from his lips, like a cruel kiss, before he could even think about it. He didn’t regret it, even when Dream visibly flinched, dropping down from the window. He crossed the room in two long strides.

“I can’t be there all the time,” Dream objected, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stood in front of George. His fingers twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted to touch him. But he didn’t. His arms stayed firmly at his side. George couldn’t decide if he wanted him to touch him, wanted the contact, skin against skin. Or if he wanted Dream to never lay a finger on him again.

His head hung as he ran a hand across his brow. No. He would never want that.

_“We shouldn’t,” George breathed against Dream, his lips leaving burning marks along his neck. They were in Dream’s house, hidden in some sort of laundry closet, buried away from the harsh gaze of his parents as they stalked through the corridors._

_“I can stop,” Dream murmured, fingers running down George’s ribs. He wanted Dream to tear him apart, to rip his bones from his body and just hold them. But that still wouldn’t be enough. Not for George, never for George. He was only eighteen, barely understood anything about the world yet. But he understood that._

_“Just- I don’t know if it’s the right time, and-” He kept cutting himself off, unable to concentrate when Dream pulled away, and George watched as the other boy tried to keep his face calm. The omission of chapped lips against his skin felt wrong, felt like someone had torn his arm off._

_George watched as Dream nodded, and went to walk away, throwing the shorter boy a weak smile before he spun on his heels, hand moving to turn the door handle. Growling, George lurched forward, catching him around his lean waist and tugging him back._

_“Fuck it,” George breathed against his neck. Mind almost absolutely melting in the smell of tea leaves and cinnamon._

_“Fuck it,” Dream repeated, and George could hear the grin in his voice as he turned, chest to chest as he coiled his fingers in George’s hair. He snorted when Dream lifted him up easily, pushing him until his back hit the wall. He liked it when Dream repeated what he would say. Like hearing his words on his tongue. Worshipped Dream’s tongue._

_“Beautiful,” Dream murmured against George’s lips, smirking when the brunet rolled his eyes as he draped his arms over tanned shoulders._

_“Stop talking,” George hissed, tugging him closer. He kissed him like he was the only source of air and George was suffocating. He swallowed him whole._

_“You’re-”_

_“Shut the hell up, Dream,” George cut him off breathlessly, tightening his hold on Dream’s hair. He grinned into the kiss when Dream’s words died, replaced with something much, much better._

He glanced up at his current Dream, taller and stronger and looking at George like he might make a break for it. George wondered if he should. Should just leave. He wondered if he could, even if he wanted to.

“So, you think it’s for the best that I _what_? Just resign?” he asked, not holding back the venom in his voice. He wasn’t surprised when Dream nodded. Wasn’t disappointed either. He just kind of felt empty.

“I can move the kingship,” Dream suggested, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The wooden floorboards creaked.

“To _who_?” George asked gingerly. Dream didn’t meet his eyes as he exhaled, breathing hitching.

“I mean, I can speak to Eret again.”

“What?” George yelled as he shoved past Dream, disbelief soaring through his body. He let out an incredulous laugh as he kicked the door open, storming through the stone corridors of his castle. Well, not his anymore, apparently. Dream chased after him, groaning as he raked two hands through his blond hair.

“You should stop doing that,” George hissed, plastering a mockingly sweet smile on his face as he paused. Dream blinked before he raised a brow in confusion. George gestured to the hands that were still in his hair. “Your hair’s going to start thinning.”

It was cruel. And childish, sure. But it seemed to lessen the irritation and betrayal seeping through him. Dream let out a snort of incredulity as George started stalking through the halls again. Every time he passed a window, golden light would snap over him, washing over his fingers. God, he wanted to spin around and wrap them around Dream’s stupid fucking throat. The emptiness had been replaced with a stifling fire in the pit of his stomach, hissing and crackling.

“Fucking Eret?” he questioned, shaking his head as Dream caught up to him. “Do you not remember why you removed his kingship in the first place, dipshit?” He was vaguely aware that he was shouting. But he was also past caring, the mere sight of Dream’s face pissing him off all over again.

“He stayed neutral.” George could hear the restrain in his voice. Could hear the way Dream was trying to stay calm. But he could also hear the weary annoyance. As if George was being the dick in this situation. “You haven’t.”

“So, this is about _politics_?” he demanded, sharply turning towards a staircase, taking them two at a time as he climbed down. God, he needed out of this fucking shithole. Needed away from Dream, just for a minute. Just a minute.

At least this time, Dream hadn’t completely abandoned him again. He was there whenever George looked. Whenever he woke up facing the wall, arm reaching out to meet bare skin before he was pulled back into a warm embrace. Whenever he decided to cook, turning with a plate of steak in his hand, Dream would be sitting there, head in his hands as he grinned and asked if there was any going spare.

But this time, George couldn’t pretend that Dream was out walking the wilderness and thinking about him the whole time. Because that was easier, easier to allow Dream to plague his mind if he believed he was haunting Dream back. That was easier than watching Dream walk up the stone stairs to the castle in the afternoon, face like stone, hands trembling in rage, and not even have to ask what had happened.

Tommy happened. Tommy always happened.

And he didn’t know how to make Dream forget about the fucking teenager he had forced himself to have a vendetta against. He didn’t know how to fix it. Tommy deserved all the shit he was getting handed to him, but Dream was…Dream was spiralling. And George didn’t know if he could drag him back out of this one.

“We can work together, George,” Dream said, his own voice raising as George lurched out of the way before Dream could grab onto him. “I just think you’d be safer if you weren’t in such a high position,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. 

George laughed, and Dream recoiled. “Why are you pretending like this is about me? About trying to protect me. Maybe if you weren’t such a psychotic prick, people wouldn’t want to fucking kill me!” he screamed, shoving Dream’s chest as hard as he could. The other man didn’t even move, just stared down at George with wide, unblinking eyes.

“That’s what you think? That’s how you _see_ me?”

“What the fuck is happening?” Both of them snapped their eyes towards Sapnap’s sudden appearance. Their friend was standing in the hall, watching with raised brows and extended arms. “Are you hearing this utter bullshit?” George hissed, jutting his chin out at Dream. Sapnap audibly gulped, but he didn’t back down. Nodding as he slowly walked over to the two of them. He stood beside George, back straight as he scanned dark eyes over Dream.

“I heard a few select things,” he said, pointedly turning to look at George.

Dream sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe this is a bad time.”

“No, I think this is a good time,” Sapnap said, face unreadable. “George, do you remember what he said,” he practically spat out his words, raising a lazy hand up towards Dream. “To Tommy a few days ago?

“What? No?”

Dream stepped forward; eyes slightly panicked as they jumped from George to Sapnap. He was already shaking his head, golden hair framing his face as he cringed.

“Okay, that’s very specific,” he objected, glaring at Sapnap as the other man folded his arms. “Sapnap, you were not involved in this. It’s between me and George, okay?” he said slowly, smiling at the two of them. It felt more like he was baring his teeth. He had never been scared of Dream before. And he didn’t think he ever could be. But sometimes George thought maybe he should be.

“It doesn’t matter if I wasn’t involved,” Sapnap rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around George. He smelled like burning wax and tea leaves. He didn’t shrink away from the contact, levelling his gaze onto Dream as Sapnap whispered into his ear, loud enough for Dream to hear. “I can refresh your memory, George.”

“ _Sapnap_.” Dream’s voice dropped into a warning, stern and strained.

“ _Dream_ ,” Sapnap retaliated, hold on George tightening as the two of them glared at each other, waiting to see what the other would do. Sapnap buckled first.

“George, Dream said he didn’t care about anything apart from the discs. Said there is nothing in this country of any value to him.” The unspoked implication snaked its way around George’s throat as he exhaled shakily. He shoved Sapnap’s arm off of him, hands on his head as he refused to meet Dream’s eyes.

_He doesn’t care about us._

“Oh my god,” Dream sighed, rolling his eyes. “Okay, _obviously_ , I didn’t actually mean it.”

“Why did you say it then?” Sapnap demanded, taking an aggressive step forward.

“The only reason I’m saying George should step down is because I care about him. I’m not going to let him keep getting hurt because of what people think about me. And he agrees, he understands,” he added, gesturing to George who was standing, unmoving. His bones ached. He thought he might split open. That Dream’s eyes, focused on him, might split him open.

“Do you understand George?” He turned to look at Sapnap, expecting anger to be written on his face, for his eyes so dark they were almost an abyss to be furious. But they were soft as he looked at George. They had the same look in them as they had that night months ago, the two of them sitting in George’s old office in Manburg, Sapnap shoving steak down his throat as George drank and drank and drank. _We can look after each_ other. The oath was still there, even now, braided into both of their hearts. _Look after each other._

Dream hadn’t been there that night.

“Sapnap, stop,” Dream hissed stepping in between George and Sapnap as he folded his arms, baring his teeth. “Why are you trying to divide us?” George looked over Dream’s shoulder, throat going dry as he watched Sapnap scoff.

“Me? I’m dividing us?” he laughed, face darkening as Dream’s shoulders stiffened.

“Yes. You.”

“Me,” Sapnap said again, slowly nodding, more so to himself than anyone else. As if he was agreeing with Dream. He looked past the blond man, latching onto George’s eyes. Look after each other.

“He didn’t even make any decrees or anything,” Dream sighed, like Sapnap and George were acting like children. Like they were the ones in the wrong. Like Dream hadn’t just essentially told them to both fuck off. George got annoyed easily. He was pissed off at Sap pretty much all the time, would pick petty fights with Punz when he was in the way. The mere presence of Tommy and the whole L’Manberg gang irritated him to no end.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this angry at Dream. “You two are blowing this way out of proportion,” he rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Sapnap, calm the fuck down,” he snarled, holding out a hand as he arched a brow in warning.

George grabbed onto his shoulders, moving so he was in-between Dream and Sap instead. He’d seen them get into physical fights before. It used to happen a lot when they were younger, but as they’d grown up, the two had seemed to settle down. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, especially when the two of them got like this, eyes burning and faces scowling, more animal than human. That didn’t mean Dream wouldn’t beat the shit out of Sapnap.

_“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” George dropped his guitar as he glanced up at Wilbur, who had entered the living room at the sound of the shouts._

_“The fuck is happening?” he asked George as he stood up from where he had been sitting, letting his guitar drop to the floor as he ran over to the window. Dream and Sapnap were in the garden, returned from a trip to the Nether. They both looked like shit, tired and hungry and dirty. But they both looked pissed off._

_“Stop trying to pin this on me, dickhead,” Sapnap yelled back, and George’s breathing hitched as him and Wilbur watched him roughly shove Dream, the taller man stumbling backwards slightly before his head snapped up, face a cast of rage. They didn’t have time to do anything before Dream’s fist was meeting Sapnap’s face, the younger man crying out in pain and frustration._

_“Shit,” George swore under his breath before he was moving. “I’m just going to go…” he trailed off when Wilbur nodded at him, eyes wide and horrified. He shoved his feet into his boots before he threw open the front door, pausing in dread as he watched Dream pin Sap down to the ground, Sapnap struggling against his hold. Blood was pooling from Sapnap’s nose, and Dream’s face had shallow scratches running down his skin._

_“You were reckless,” Sapnap was hissing, his own hands fisted around Dream’s collar. “You never realise your limits. You’re not a fucking God, Dream. Sometimes there are things you can’t do.”_

_"_ _We needed the blaze rods,” Dream snarled, eyes narrowed and dimmed._

_“Yeah? And look where that got us. Now we have fuck all. And you can go inside and tell George and Will that it was your fucking fault.”_

“You _were meant to be looking after the stuff,” Dream objected._

“You _were going to die, you stupid prick. Maybe I should’ve fucking left you,” he snorted, shoving Dream off of him. “You didn’t have George to help you this time. To mop up your mess. And this is what I get for trying. Fuck you, man.” Sapnap shook his head as he pushed himself up, wiping down the dust and dirt on his trousers. He looked up, meeting George’s eyes before he sheepishly smiled, realising George had heard everything._

_Dream was still on the ground, unblinking as his face darkened and darkened at the memory Sapnap had brought up to spit back in his face. Sap wasn’t ready for when Dream leapt up to his feet, his fist coming up to meet Sapnap’s jaw, head falling backwards before his whole body fell, head meeting the ground with a crack._

_“Sapnap!” George cried out, running towards the two of them. But Sapnap got back up to his feet, wincing slightly before his dark eyes focused on Dream, and he was leaping at him, teeth bared._

_“Stop,” George scowled when he reached them, hauling Sapnap off of Dream and shoving himself in the middle of them, arms reached out to keep them away. “Stop,” he repeated. “You’re both acting like fucking children.”_

_Sapnap backed off first, grabbing his discarded bag from the ground before he stormed into the house. The door slammed behind him, and George flinched. Dream was breathing heavily, and when George reached out for him, he backed away. George’s arm hung in the air as Dream stamped his way into the nearby woods. A loud scream of frustration was the last thing George heard before he followed Sapnap inside, leaving Dream to himself._

“Just say it, Dream,” George said, tightening his fist on Dream’s shirt, pulling his attention away from Sapnap. George wasn’t oblivious to his own feelings and emotions, he knew Dream was his weak spot, his Achilles’ heel. He had been for more than eight years now. He knew it took everything out of him to say no to him, to turn against him. But he knew he was Dream’s spot too, the chip in his armour.

Yet while he knew, deep down in himself somewhere, that Dream would never stop being his weakness, the one thing he would rather die than lose, that wasn’t the case for Dream. It had been once. But Dream had said it himself. His concentration, desire, was shifting from George. Towards something bigger, something more twisted than George could even imagine. But right here, right now, as Dream’s eyes softened, jaw unlocking, as he met George’s eyes. He knew his Dream was still in there somewhere.

And if he could grab onto that, could pull it and twist it, well, it might save Sapnap from being knocked onto his ass.

“Just say that you hate me,” George breathed, eyes falling to Dream’s lips, chapped from the cold weather.

“George-” Dream croaked out, voice breaking slightly. George glanced up, biting down on his own trembling lip as Dream shook his head. But then Sapnap opened his big fucking mouth, and Dream tensed up under George’s fingers.

“First, he says he doesn’t care about us, and now he’s demoting you,” Sapnap scoffed. Yellow eyes flecked with brimstone and inhuman wrath and feral barrenness left his, narrowing in on the man behind them instead.

“I’m not _demoting_ him,” Dream roared. George winced, head hanging as he tightened his fist on Dream’s shirt, prepared to dig his heels into the floor and tug Dream away from Sapnap if he had to. “I am trying to keep him safe! Sapnap stop this. You’re dividing us.”

Dream’s fingers met George’s wrist, as if he was going to push him off. George’s breathing hitched; he could practically feel the anger leaving Dream in sharp, toxic waves. He silently prayed for Sapnap to shut up, as he felt Dream tighten beneath him. Glancing up, he pressed his other hand against Dream’s neck, shaking his head desperately. Dream didn’t calm down, didn’t unflex his tightened fists. Didn’t acknowledge George’s cool palm against his flushed skin. But he stayed still. Didn’t move forward.

“I’m not dividing us. I am standing beside George. He’s my friend and he’s my king.”

“He’s my friend too, but he is not my king,” Dream said, voice suddenly over washed in calmness. He stepped backwards, shaking George’s hands off of him as his nose crinkled. George shuddered, finding himself walking away from him until he walked into Sapnap, feeling a familiar hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Not anymore,” Dream added, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Whatever George decides, I’ll stick with him,” Sapnap declared, and although George was thankful for Sapnap, eternally grateful for his friend, he just wanted him to shut up. Because the cold glare Dream levelled at their friend terrified him on Sapnap’s behalf. He realised for the first time ever, he was scared of Dream.

 _“He_ isn’t deciding anything,” Dream said, shaking his head before he turned on his heels, storming off. Leaving Sapnap and George alone in the hall, breathing heavily as they shared a look of doom between them.

Eret’s coronation took place three days later. George glanced around the hall, begrudgingly impressed that it had only taken a couple of days to decorate the place. Banners that he guessed must be green hung from the wooden beams, fresh flowers placed in pots at the end of the pews.

George was sitting at the back of the hall, beside Sapnap. He hadn’t asked his friend what he was doing when he sat down next to him as the trumpets had sounded, even though he was fairly certain Sap was meant to be standing on the dais since he was a royal guard.

_“So, we’ve both been promoted,” George said as Sapnap perched himself on the throne’s armrest, a plate of food for George in his lap. Passing the salad to George, who just stabbed the leaves with the fork over and over again, Sapnap made a non-committal hum._

_“I wouldn’t say I’ve been promoted,” he shrugged._

_“You’re a royal guard now,” George commented, mimicking Dream’s voice as he said Sapnap’s new title. He folded his legs into a basket, the throne’s seat more than big enough for them both to sit in it, but Sapnap stayed on the arm, leaning into George with a sigh._

_“I’m exactly the same as I’ve always been. Dream can give me all the fancy titles he wants. I’m still doing exactly the same as I always have been.”_

_“And what have you always been doing?” he asked as he looked up to see Sapnap staring out of one of the windows, the night sky impossibly large above them._

_“Whatever Dream orders me to do.”_

George glanced up from his own seat to the throne, watching as Dream stood in front of it, the throne tight in his hands. Punz was beside him, back straight and armour polished, blue eyes gleaming. Puffy was standing near the throne, also adorned in armour and shining blades. So, she had finally picked a side, George figured as he watched Punz mutter something to her, her face lighting up in amusement. He wondered when she would regret it.

The ceramic mask slid towards George’s direction, but instantly drew back when the sound of trumpets arrived. Eret strode down the aisle, cape flying out behind him. George clenched down on his teeth, fingers flexing into fists as he watched. A hand dropped onto his, but when he looked up, Sapnap was just staring dead forward, face blank and unmoving.

He tuned out when Eret reached Dream, words unrecognisable and voices distorted. He just stayed seated, breathing feeling heavy as he watched Dream lower the crown onto Eret’s head. His crown. His crown on Eret’s head.

A rush of applause followed when Eret stood, taking his place on the throne. The L’Manburgians were sitting in the front row, all looking presentable for the first time in their lives. Tubbo in his suit, red tie neat and pressed, with his cabinet beside him. Niki leapt up to her feet as the crowd continued cheering, beaming up at Eret as she clapped her hands together. Her hair was pink now, matching the soft dress she was wearing that looked to George more like clouds than fabric.

Tommy was absent, and George wondered whose decision that had been. Maybe he had refused to come out of principle, or maybe Tubbo had suggested he not attend. He leaned back in the pew, tilting his head at the man who stood beside Eret, the only one not dressed up in finery and pretentious jewels.

Dream stood there in his usual fighting leathers and the familiar hoodie. Separate from everyone else. Always separate.

Maybe it had been him, who had denied Tommy an invitation.

“Before we continue on to the party,” Eret grinned, hands splayed out on his throne of gold. “I have a couple of things I’d like to say.” He spoke of unity and rebuilding. About relationships with other countries. Smiled down at Niki and Fundy and pretended just because he had some friends in L’Manburg, everyone in both the countries had decided to not hate each other.

And then he looked to George. “Dream is stepping down as Captain of the guards, and so I have found myself in the position of needing someone else. Someone I can trust with my life, and the safety of my country.”

George refused to meet Eret’s eyes, instead looking towards Dream. But he was only staring at Sapnap’s hand that was still gripping George’s. “The fuck do I do?” George breathed as Eret beckoned him forward. “ _Go_ ,” Sapnap answered sharply, pulling his hand away and lightly elbowing George up onto his feet. “We can deal with this later. Just go.”

So, he let his feet carry him down the aisle, embarrassment burning the back of his neck with every step. He ignored Tubbo and his friends as he passed, eyes focused on the crown atop Eret’s head, flattening down brown curls. George didn’t even try to hide the frown that tugged at his lips when he reached the throne.

“Do you accept my offer?” Eret asked him, diplomatic smile still plastered on his face. George nodded stiffly, not trusting himself enough to open his mouth. “Then kneel,” Eret breathed, and George tightened at the smugness in his voice, the victory. Because he had been stripped of his title by Dream months ago. Dream had ridiculed and belittled Eret, and placed his inexperienced, uncaring lover on the throne instead. And now, here they were.

His breathing hitched when Eret stood, unsheathing his sword and gesturing for George to kneel. He let his head hand, let the ridicule wash over him, skin blushing with silent rage. He let his legs move, hands on his knee as he bent down. Eret placed his blade on George’s right shoulder, bullshit about honour and skill falling from his mouth before he then tapped his left shoulder too.

George’s eyes snapped to the floor as the sword weighed heavily on his skin. His fingers brushed against his neck. It had been here. He could still see the blood pooling down the steps like a waterfall, dripping over his fingers like wine.

“Rise,” Eret said, and George stood, wishing that somehow the blade had gone through his heart instead. Wishing that Technoblade hadn’t missed.

He turned his head, eyes falling onto a face covered by a mask. A soft smile winked back at him. So, it had been Dream. Of course, it had been Dream. This was one of his trademark moves; fuck up, don’t apologise, create an extravagant scene instead, George forgives him. Rinse and repeat. 

“Now, we drink,” Eret laughed, arms spread widely. Chatter filled the air as people rose from the pews, heading into the aisle to congregate before they moved onto the reception. George stayed where he was, body feeling horribly weightless. Like he might just drift into the sky, drift into space. Nothing to tether him down.

Blinking, he looked up when something tugged on his arm, pulling him down from the dais. George bit down a sob as he met Sap’s eyes, everything that had happened over the past days, suddenly clawing its way up his throat, slashing his voice to ribbons. Fuck, not even the past few days. The past goddamn years.

He didn’t even know when it had happened, but he suddenly realised he’d lost himself. In all the war and all the fighting. In the way he had given all of himself to Dream without hesitation or restrain. He had come here, following Sapnap and Dream and Wilbur. He had lost the way the sun breathed against the sea, lost his bakery. Lost all of his books.

He had lost his goodness. He had lost himself because he had believed that in this new world, where they had to fight each other, had to trust no one, he had believed that everything that was familiar to him was good for him. He had believed Dream was good for him.

I don’t know what right he thinks he has to do that,” Sapnap said as he led George into a corner, large hands not letting go of his shoulders. George shook his head, the look on Sapnap’s face hurting something in his chest. It was a stark difference, a cruel difference, to how he had carried himself during the ceremony. The grit and fortitude gone, face soft and warm.

They both knew who Sap was talking about.

“He can do what he wants,” George said, trying to laugh. It came out trembling, falling. Pathetic and useless. Sapnap shook his head, letting go of George to fist his fingers into his hair. He slumped against the wall, looking up with eyes painted in something that George didn’t recognise. George could always recognise Sapnap’s emotions. But this…this utter betrayal mixed with hurt and anger and regret…this was new.

“I can’t stay here, George,” he croaked out, biting his bottom lip. “ _We_ can’t stay here.”

“Sapnap, you can’t just-we can’t just-” he cut himself off, hands on his face as he glanced around at the small number of people still scattered around the hall. Dream was standing at the entrance to the hall, speaking to Punz. But his eyes were trained right on George and Sapnap.

“Why can’t we?” he asked, begged, as he pushed himself up off of the wall. George was shaking his head, like if he did it enough times everything around him would just go away. Sapnap grabbed onto his hands with one of his own, tipping George’s jaw up with the other so he would look at him. “George, please.”

“Ten times over, Sapnap,” George replied softly, the words feeling like razors on his tongue. “Ten times over.”

“We can’t keep doing this for him,” Sapnap snarled, dropping his hand from George’s face as he stepped away. George latched onto their hands that were still joined, refusing to let Sapnap leave. “George, _I can’t,”_ he said, voice breaking painfully.

He hesitated, glancing down at their hands. At the scars, the rough callouses. He let go of Sapnap with a shudder. He couldn’t keep him here. Even if he couldn’t leave Dream, couldn’t let him go. He had to let Sap.

“If you change your mind, I’m leaving in half an hour.” George looked up, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“What’s your plan?”

Sapnap shrugged before he took another step back, stepping down from the dais with a forced smile. “I’ll figure that out on the way. I just know I can’t stay here anymore.” And then he left. Without a goodbye.

George watched him leave, hands on the back of his neck as his stomach clenched with sick. He only moved when Puffy approached him, speaking words he couldn’t understand, letting her lead him somewhere as the silence roared all around him.

They walked into a hall decorated with the same hanging banners, the same picked flowers. People were dancing; Niki and Eret, Fundy and Phil, Quackity and Karl. George stood against the doorway; arms wrapped around himself. The music threatened to choke him out.

“Congratulations.” He looked up at Dream’s voice. The crude smiling mask blinked back down at him. “Captain off the guard.”

“Why would you do that to me?” George demanded, the anger biting its way out of his mouth. “Do you know how fucking mortifying that was?”

He could see the confused frown on Dream’s face, watched as he shrugged. “I thought you’d appreciate it. Just because you’re not king doesn’t mean you’re not a valuable asset to the team.”

“I don’t want to be a valuable asset to the team,” George replied, finding Puffy, Punz and Eret in the sea of guests. Sometimes he wondered if this was all a game of chess to Dream, and they were pieces, ready and waiting to be sacrificed. “I want to be valuable to you.” He meant to spit it out, to hurt Dream, but it just came out weak and desperate.

Dream stepped towards him, and George stiffened. “Of course you’re valuable to me. What’s going on, George? What’s this about? I don’t-”

“Sapnap’s left,” George said, refusing to meet Dream’s eyes.

“ _What_?"

“He left,” George yelled, and still the music drowned him out. “He’s gone. He’s left us here.”

“Why would he leave? I don’t understand,” Dream’s lips were pressed together, shoulders hunched as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Don’t act like you didn’t drive him to it,” George spat.

“Me? What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve not done shit. If Sapnap wants to have a temper tantrum like the child he is, that’s fine by me,” Dream snarled, that familiar rage leaking from his voice. He turned to leave, but George caught onto his shoulder before he could, reaching up onto his toes to keep him there.

“He is our friend. He is your best friend, your brother. And you don’t care that he’s leaving us?” George demanded, gripping into Dream’s hoodie. The blond man shoved him off, and even though he couldn’t see Dream’s face, the image of disappointed yellow eyes flashed in his mind.

“You’re acting like a fucking child,” Dream whispered, voice cruel.

“God, you are such a prick,” George breathed, disgust rolling through his body in waves as he stormed out of the hall.

“George, you don’t understand,” Dream called after him, voice haunting. George wanted to clamp his hands over his ears like he would do as a child when the thunder sounded off of his roof. “It’s different now.”

“What does that mean?” George questioned, patience thin and nerves frayed. They were both in the hall, door closed behind them, blocking out the rest of the world. The light from the moon shone in through the glass panes, creeping over the walls. “Why are you doing this, Dream? What’s different?”

“I’m different.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. Maybe if he hadn’t been blinded by his anger, at Dream, at Sapnap for leaving him, at himself for being unable to leave too, he would’ve heard the sincerity in Dream’s words. The slightly unhinged, breathless words. Maybe he would’ve noticed there was something off, like he normally always did. But instead, he just shot back, tired of it all.

“I can fucking tell.”

“You don’t understand,” Dream sighed.

“Stop _saying_ that,” George said through gritted teeth.

“It’s bigger than you,” Dream shouted, fingers in fists at his sides. “It’s bigger than us. I can’t…” he trailed off with a frustrated shout, fist slamming into the wall. A crack followed, but Dream didn't even flinch, attention solely directed at George. “This _needs_ to come before you, George. God.”

George’s breathing hitched, his chest splitting open. Nothing and everything all spilled out of him, running over his ribs, creeping into his teeth, slashing at his nailbeds. He shook his head, ignoring the tears that clung to his jaw. He had put everything behind Dream. Always. For eight years.

Because he had loved him. But he was starting to think he was still too young, to have loved someone so much, too much.

“I’m leaving,” he said before he took a step back, moonlight running down his face.

“ _What_?” Dream barked out. George took another step back, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. As he kept moving away from Dream, the blond man seemed to realise that he wasn't fucking about, posture completely changing as he reached out for him. “George, come on. George, you can’t leave me. Please don't leave too. I…”

He never heard Dream’s last words, spinning on his heels and sprinting through the halls. He found Sapnap in the stables. With two horses. “Come on,” he said when George ran in, panting and shaking, wrapping his arms around him quickly. He had been standing against the fence, like he was waiting. Like he knew he would come. Like he had never said goodbye because he had known what, who, George was going to pick. He let his head fall into Sap’s chest, grabbing onto the back of his shirt as he suffocated his tears in the fabric.

“Let’s go George. I'll look after you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments really keep me motivated to write :)


	6. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Leave all your love and your longing behind you  
> Can't carry it with you if you want to survive."

_“I need you to come to a meeting in a couple of days’ time.” Dream grinned in amusement. Schlatt shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable, nervous, for the first time he could remember. “I need you to fight with me. I need you on my side.”_

_“And why would I do that?” Dream asked, shrugging as Schlatt’s throat bobbed._

_“I have something,” he said slowly. Dream rolled his eyes, making to leave. This was stupid. Of course, this was stupid, he was dealing with fucking Schlatt. Who had done nothing but mock authority and honour as soon as he had stepped foot in his lands._

_“I’m serious,” he called out, panic dripping into his voice. Dream turned, glancing at him from over his shoulder. “There is literally nothing you have that I would want,” he spat._

_“Resurrection.” Dream paused in his tracks, jaw twitching. He didn’t turn, but Schlatt kept speaking. “Do you know how powerful you would be, Dream? If you could bring back people from the grave? Raise an army of the dead. Save peoples’ loved ones. Save your_ own _loved ones.” He felt warm breath against his neck, back stilling when Schlatt draped an arm over his shoulder._

_“What was that about a sick sister?” Schlatt whispered into his ear, smirking cruelly. Dream had never been great at chess. But he was pretty sure he’d been shoved into mate._

_“I can make you a God, Dream.”_

He was standing on the walls when they arrived, already waiting. Watching as they made their way up to him, he rolled his eyes. The four of them were bearing weapons, two polished swords strapped across Fundy’s back, a stained axe gripped in Quackity’s hand. Tommy’s blade lay lazily against his chest, accompanied for a smile too cocky for someone in his position.

Three of them were in their uniforms, Tubbo’s red tie waving in the wind as he climbed up to Dream. Tommy was in his normal clothes, and Wilbur’s old, disgusting coat. Always separate from the others.

They were all adorned with steel, but none of them were wearing armour. Fucking idiots. Loyal to the values of a dead nation, born from a dead man. It was a bit pathetic actually, Dream thought to himself as they pulled themselves up onto the barracks, hesitating as they took in Dream.

“Hi Dream,” Tubbo addressed him with his usual cautious gait, holding out his hand. Dream shook it, the scars on Tubbo’s hand scratching against his own. “We have come to a decision,” Tubbo said as he pulled away, Dream shoving his hands back into his pockets as he nodded, rolling back on his heels.

“You’re a dick.” Dream’s focus snapped onto Tommy as he spat at him, blue eyes crazed. He looked tired, circles under his eyes dark and prominent. He looked a lot older than he was, face littered with scars, devoid and wiped of innocence.

“Tommy,” Tubbo snarled, holding a hand out in warning. But the other boy didn’t back down. Dream’s fingers twitched to the beat of his own heartbeat, resisting the palatable urge to just snap the kid’s fucking neck.

“What are you thinking? Bet you’re thinking about Gogy,” he taunted, eyes crinkling in amusement at the nickname for George. It was a horrible nickname. The worst thing he’d ever heard in his life. It didn’t fit George at all. But he’d called him it once, ironically, and it had stuck. Mainly because of the way George had smiled like he really didn’t want to every time Dream said it. Fundy laughed beside Tommy, but Quackity froze, holding his breath as he looked up at Dream.

_The door swung open, and soft, warm light washed over Dream. The smell of fresh bread and broth hit him as well. A welcoming sight, homely. Completely closed off to him._

_Quackity smiled up at him, leaning on the threshold as he gripped the door with his other hand. The younger man’s shoulders stiffened. Dream grinned under the mask. Jackpot._

_“Tell them to come out, Q,” he said kindly. Punz was beside him, slowly tracing his finger up and down the blade in his hand. He’d offered to help look for George and Sapnap, of his own accord. When Dream had asked why, he’d just shrugged, spinning his axe in his fingers before throwing it into his other hand._

_“If neither of them shows up, I’ll have to do more work for less money. And if you’re left alone too long you get all grouchy. Like a goddamn cat,” he said before he lightly elbowed him, skipping down the castle steps, not waiting for Dream to follow._

_Dream trusted Punz. As much as he could trust anyone. He was smart and logical, quick in battle. He was actually the closest thing he had to a Sapnap now. Strong, capable. Not as reckless, not as loud. He glanced over at Punz as Quackity looked between the two of them, and then between the blades adorning both of them. Maybe, actually, he was more efficient than Sapnap. Maybe not as skilled, but his calmness and loyalty might outweigh that._

_He still needed Sapnap back though. He tilted his head down at the man in the doorway. “Quackity,” he purred, taking a step forward. “Come on now.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

Fucking liar _. Red flashed through Dream. The urge to snatch up his sword and crack it through Quackity’s skull smashed through his body. He exhaled, casting the whispers of murder and rage from his head as best he could._

_“I know they’re here,” Dream hissed, leaning forward. Quackity stiffened. “I just want them back. They don’t understand what they’re doing. Go get them.”_

_Quackity scowled up at him, dropping the innocent act as he roughly shoved Dream away. The sound of metal slicing through the air echoed as Punz moved his axe, the blade inches from Quackity’s throat. The smaller man stilled, eyes trained on the weapon, nostrils flaring._

_Dream didn’t call Punz back, allowed him to push the blade further, a single bead of blood dropping from Quackity’s skin. He hissed slowly, eyes flashing up to meet Dream’s. “This isn’t your domain,” he snarled. “This is L’Manberg. You can’t murder me here.”_

_“Says who?” Dream leered, clicking his tongue._

_“If you kill me now, Tubbo will never be on your side. He will_ never _exile Tommy.”_

_Dream hesitated. Kill Quackity and take back his friends. Or let him live and keep up pretences with Tubbo. Split Tommy from the group. “They aren’t your property to just take back,” Quackity added once Dream lifted his hand up, Punz begrudgingly lowering the axe with a hasty hum._

_“I never said they were,” Dream objected, throat bobbing as he took a step back. “I don’t think they’re_ mine _.”_

_But weren’t they? Dream had done so much for them. Had given up his soul, his entire being for Sapnap and George. And now, in his last time of need, they leave him alone? They run away together, to Quackity, hiding behind false treaties that only exit because he allowed them to exit._

_“Don’t you?” Quackity breathed, tongue like a blade as it cut through Dream’s skin._

_“Don’t let them start a war over this,” was all Dream said into response to that question. “They won’t win. If they want to talk, they know where to find me,” he added as he stepped backwards, falling into line with Punz. The whispering rage breathed against his neck, licking his skin. He tried to shake it off._

_“They don’t_ want _to talk to you, don’t you get that?” Quackity yelled, face contorting with irritation. “You’re a fucking psychopath. And even thought it took them this long to leave your manipulative ass, thank god they finally did.”_

_Dream’s knuckles met Quackity’s face with a crack. He swore colourfully, stumbling backwards as his hands came up to cup his nose. Blood spilled onto the floor. Dream didn’t move. The next time Quackity looked up at him, his dark eyes were painted in fear. And disgust._

_Dream revelled in it._

_“I really didn’t want it to come to this, you know?” he said with a sigh, shaking out his hand. But you’ve forced my hand. I can’t have fucking rats running about my lands like this, can I?”_

_Quackity watched on in distress, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Dream wondered if they could hear, if they were near enough to hear his voice. If they had any semblance of regret. If they missed him as much as he missed them. He wondered if they felt like they were dying too._

_“I’ll see you tomorrow, Quackity,” Dream said, cocking his head before he turned before Quackity could slam the door on his face. That followed shortly after he’d walked down his steps, accompanied with a scream of pain and frustration._

_“Holy shit,” Punz laughed as he chased after him, blue eyes wide with awe filled amusement. “I thought you were gonna kill the guy,” he said as they walked through the entrance to L’Manberg. Dream ran his fingers over the obsidian walls._

_“Next time I might,” he murmured, blinking in surprise when Punz chuckled, elbowing him lightly._

_“I’m glad I’m on your side, man,” he sighed with a smile, fingers running through blond hair as they made their way back to their lands. Dream just nodded stiffly, kissing his teeth. His side. He had someone on his side._

“Tommy, stop,” Tubbo hissed, eyes narrowed before he turned back to Dream, trying to smile awkwardly. Dream forced himself to stay calm, breathing regular as crinkled his nose behind the mask. “Dream, any thoughts?” Tubbo asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I just want to hear what your decision is. I’ve calmed down a little bit over the last couple of days, after Tommy threatened me.” He shot Tubbo a smile he knew looked apologetic and kind before he spoke again. “I’m afraid I acted unprofessionally. And I apologise for that. From one leader to another, I just want to hear your decision.”

Remind Tubbo he has the authority. Remind him how the rest of them don’t remember that, don’t care.

Tubbo blinked, nodding tentatively. He looked like he wanted to speak, but Tommy interrupted from behind. A shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, pride dripping over his face. “You don’t seem very calm,” he sneered, Fundy laughing behind him. Quackity kept his eyes on the ground beneath them. On the obsidian that seemed to devour the light, seemed to swallow the sun’s rays whole. Casting L’Manberg in darkness, shadows whispering over the townhouses, putting out the lanterns that hung in the air.

“Oh, I’m very calm,” Dream said slowly. He was so close. So fucking close. Just had to wait it out. It would be worth it. It would all be worth it. Get rid of Tommy, and everyone is back under his power, even L’Manberg. So close. He could taste it, biting down on his tongue. Metal coated his mouth.

“Look around,” Tubbo exclaimed, gesturing to the city below them. He watched as Quackity’s eyes shot towards his own house, no doubt to the two fugitives he was harbouring. Rage flickered in his gut. He’d always thought L’Manberg was ugly as shit anyway.

“There are giant obsidian walls,” he mused, shrugging as Tubbo looked back at him, face hard.

“There are Dream, and that is a problem, for too long-”

“Tubbo, I trust you,” he cut him off, taking a step towards him. Tubbo breathed in sharply as Dream draped an arm around his shoulder, making sure the smile he’d spent hours perfecting was painted effortlessly on his lips. “You’re the best leader L’Manberg has ever had. You’ve always made the best choices for your country, and I trust that your decision is the best for your country.”

Tubbo nodded slowly, looking up at Dream, even though he couldn’t see his face. The boy seemed to be searching for something, blue eyes scanning over the mask like it had answers. As if it wasn’t just Dream under it. He squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder, a silent urge. Come on, come on.

“This is funny, actually,” Tubbo went to say, but Tommy once again interrupted him. Dream felt Tubbo shrink under his arm, physically recoil when Tommy spoke. So fucking close.

“Yeah, it’s funny. Fuck you, Dream,” he goaded, shoving his middle finger up in his direction. He bit back a snarl. He should’ve slice both of the kid’s fucking hands off. But Tommy’s smirk fell instantly when Tubbo shook his head, stepping out of Dream’s arm.

“Tommy, I’m sorry,” he breathed shakily, rubbing the side of his neck. Tommy stepped towards Tubbo, gripping his sword tight in his fingers, knuckles strangled with white, face strangled with anxiety.

“What?” Tommy asked, a confused smile on his face. But there was terror in his eyes. He reached out for Tubbo, but his arm fell through the air as Tubbo stepped out of the way, eyes on the floor as he spoke.

“Dream, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the best thing to do to have Tommy exiled.”

He breathed the words in as chaos broke out, the three other men screaming. Dream grinned, licking his teeth. It was like ecstasy. He felt weightless. He could reach out, and Tommy would be there in his palm. And all he had to do was shut over his fingers, and he would be crushed. He would be dead. It would be so easy. One glorious swipe of his blade.

Shaking his head out, he concentrated on the plan at hand. He couldn’t kill him instantly. No, no. He was going to have his fun. The fun he was owed. Because this kid, had come into his fucking land and ruined everything. He should have told him to fuck off when he had the chance, before Will swooped in and decided to protect Tommy and Tubbo with his fucking life. He should have killed him in their duel. Should have put an arrow right through his goddamn eyes.

Because Tommy, the scrappy, reckless and feral teenager, had somehow managed to turn the tide. Turn his tide. He had somehow managed to half Dream’s power, collect more and more people to his fucking rebellions.

It might have been under the guise of Wilbur, but it had always been the kid. His fucking downfall over and over and over again was because of a fucking teenager. The kid with his blindless hope. The kid with his lost fucking fingers and his taunting.

Dream was going to knock that out of him. He was going to beat him down until he was unrecognisable. The scrap and the fight and the wildness. Dream was going to kill it where it stood. He was always good at killing things.

“You didn’t even tell us beforehand!” Quackity was shouting, shouldering Tommy behind himself and Fundy, as if they could stop Dream. His nose was broken, Dream realised as Quackity looked past Tubbo and up at him, unsheathing his axe. He just waved towards him, cocking his head. Quackity looked like he was going to throw up his guts.

“That’s enough, okay! Be quiet! You’ve undermined my authority from the get-go, no one here respects me. You definitely do not have the best interests of this nation at heart, and you’ve never been more apparent on that stance than today!” Tubbo screamed. There were civilians in the townhouses watching. Dream kept his gaze on Quackity’s home, but no faces ever appeared at the windows to watch.

“You agreed with us!” Fundy shouted desperately, pointing an accusing finger in Tubbo’s direction. “Why would you go back on the plan now?”

“When I was sworn in, I made a promise to do what was best for my nation. And Tommy, you are not what’s best for this nation.” The two teenagers stared at one another, somehow both of their eyes pleading and wrathful at the same time. Tubbo’s eyes lined with red, Tommy’s lip quivering as he dug his fingers into his hair.

“Tubbo…no, no this is-you’re not…no man that’s not right. You agreed with us,” Tommy protested, voice breaking horribly. Thank fuck it was two teenagers he was dealing with.

Wilbur had always much harder to break, to sink into. Schlatt hadn’t cared enough about anything for Dream to exploit, to twist or distort. And Techno was relentless, strong against all the winds he tried to howl against the man. No, it took the adults breaking themselves for them to properly die. Wilbur did that to himself; Dream only gave him a helpful push. It was Schlatt’s self-hatred that had killed him. And Techno had hidden himself away of his own accord, in the snow where he thought no one would find him.

Dream hadn’t been able to break them.

But it was so much easier with Tommy. With Tubbo and Quackity. With their teenage hormones and repressed trauma. It was like someone had dealt Dream a silver platter. He would be the one to make them break, by his own hand. He wouldn’t allow them to die any other way. This was his victory. His prey and his catch.

“Tubbo, Tubbo what are you doing, man?” Quackity whispered, shaking his head, eyes wide.

“All of this revolves around the music discs,” Tubbo yelled, distressed as Fundy and Quackity turned on him, eyes painted in disgust and disappointment.

_Just say that you hate me. Dark eyes distorted in his dreams. George’s hands running down his side, nails scratching into his skin, deeper and deeper until he turned Dream into ribbons of flesh. Whatever George decides, I’ll stick with him. The community house, empty and devoid. Their house, barren and coated in dust. The blue bed in the castle, sheets untouched._ _Don’t act like you didn’t drive him to it. Wilting poppies, eaten up by mould._

“We cannot sacrifice everything for them,” Tubbo yelled as Dream stumbled backwards. No one noticed as he breathed heavily behind the mask, trying desperately to stop the hyperventilating breaths that threatened to choke him out.

“Before everything, Tubbo…the discs…” Tommy trailed off, sounding genuinely confused. Dream clutched his shirt, heart feeling too big, too open, too fast for his ribs.

“They are just music discs! They shouldn’t be able to dictate the future of a nation!”

His ribs were going to snap. He was going to die, and he would die alone. Powerless and alone. His breathing turned raspy. Fucking breathe idiot. It’s going to be fine. Fucking breathe.

“Tubbo, you know what this looks like?” Fundy’s hissing voice wept in Dream’s ears, distorted and tinny.

“What?” Tubbo spat.

“We agreed on something and last minute you call it off for your own benefit.” A pause. Dream caught his breath, untangling his fingers from his shirt. “You’re acting like Schlatt.”

“This is exactly what Schlatt would do,” Quackity cried out, voice pained. “Take it from _me_ , this is the shit he pulled.”

“This is what Dream wants!” Tommy shouted, and Dream’s head snapped up, sweat coating his hair as he locked onto Tommy’s eyes. Pure animosity gleamed back up at him. He concentrated on that, using it to calm himself down. He let Tommy’s hatred breathe the air back into him, pulse through his veins. The whispers died down, the red from the corners of his vision ebbing away.

“This is not the right way,” Tubbo said quietly, glancing out towards the city on stilts.

“How is _this_ the right way? How are the discs wrong?” Tommy demanded through gritted teeth, slamming his foot against the obsidian he was standing on. Tubbo snarled in frustration, crossing over to Tommy in three short strides and gripping him by the collar.

“The discs don’t matter, Tommy. How can you not see that?”

“Why? What? Well, if they don’t matter, if you have no attachment to things, then why does any of this matter at all?” he questioned. Something in those words seemed to break something in Tubbo, because the boy let go off Tommy with a wounded sob before he stepped away, looking up to Dream.

Something in those words broke Tubbo, tearing up the last scrap of hope the boy had clearly been holding out. Something in those words broke Tubbo, and something in those words awoke Dream.

Attachment. He let the word drift through his mind, glancing out towards his lands beyond the wall. The castle peeking up over the horizon. His chest filled with a blinding realisation as he turned to Quackity’s house, an incredulous laugh brushing past his lips. How hadn’t he seen it before?

“Dream,” Tubbo said, voice low. Voice echoing of victorious laughter from a previous leader of the same city. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before he clenched them into fists. Straightening his back and tilting his head upwards. “Please detain and extract Tommy out of my country.”

Silence fell, cruel and final. Sometimes, in times of silence like this, when it snuck into Dream’s crevices, every crack in his body, he wanted to spit himself out. The whole mess. But the sounds always came back, the colours distorting and the way his chest seized, ached, craved power. And not just power like he had. He didn’t want to be the leader of a country. Did not want to sign treaties and trading agreements. He wanted to be a God.

He _was_ a God. And they would pray to him.

“Tommy,” Quackity breathed tentatively as the boy retreated like an animal, arms out to protect himself, eyes flicking from Dream as he stalked forward, to Tubbo, as he folded his arms. 

“Tubbo,” he said, laughing a little too loudly, a little too high pitched. “ _Tubbo_.”

“Let’s go,” Dream smiled, unlatching the axe from his side, using it to point at the stairs leading back down to L’Manberg. Leading away from L’Manberg.

He was going to get it back to how it had been before. Before Tommy had ruined his lands, the world he had created for himself, to escape the shitty real world. He was going to get his friends, his brothers, his family back. He was going to get everyone back.

Tommy was the key.

And Dream was going to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. This teenager would no longer be allowed to stand in his fucking way. Over his dead fucking body.

“Tommy, you are hereby exiled.” The words washed over Dream as he took another step towards the kid. When he didn’t move, Dream gestured to the stairs with a shake of his head, blond hair falling in front of the mask. Tommy’s eyes hardened, as if he might resist. But then Dream tapped on the handle of his axe, and the kid dropped down onto the first step, trainers covering the cracks in the obsidian bricks.

“Tubbo, are you insane?” Fundy yelled. Dream turned his back on them, nudging Tommy further and further down the stairs, until the two of them were standing on the grass, slick with morning dew.

“Tubbo, I…please,” Tommy pleaded as he stumbled under Dream’s guiding hand. He would have fallen, the soil eating his face, chewing on his flesh and snapping out his bones, if it wasn’t for the arm Dream swept out to catch Tommy around the waist. The boy didn’t thank him, had never thanked Dream for anything in his life.

He completely ignored Dream after he let go, gawking up at the men left on the barracks with unbelieving eyes. The early sun brushed against his blond hair, swiped across the patches of acne on his face, the scars nicking his lips.

“This is how it has to be,” Tubbo said, the wind elevating his voice. “You are a liability.” And it sounded like it genuinely hurt him to say, like if he said the words, if he damned Tommy any more than he already had, it would become somehow truer. But Tommy clearly didn’t hear that, face morphing from confusion to bitter betrayal.

“You are my _friend_.”

Dream sighed, gesturing forward with his head. Tommy walked backwards, trainers scuffing across the wooden path, hands shoved in his pockets as if they were trembling. But to let everyone see, to show the quivering doubt in his body, would be to reveal the fear. But Dream saw through it, saw through him. He could feel Tommy’s burning fear, singing right alongside Dream’s.

“Tommy, I don’t think you wanna die,” Dream breathed, breath hot against his face as the words bounced off of the ceramic. Tommy still refused to look at him, clinging desperately onto the last piece of frayed pride. “You need to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Quackity said from above, shaking his head soberly. Dream clenched his jaw. He was surprised, at how easy it was. To drag Tommy away from his friends. At how easily they seemed to be giving him up.

_George, you can’t leave me. Sapnap’s left. He’s gone. He’s left us here. Please don't leave too. I breathe you, George, I love you on purpose._

The words he’d said that night, said to himself as his knees buckled, watching George run. Run through the stone hall, steps a terrible, awful rhythm. Run away from him. The words he’d said to himself after George had left, taking along with him the scrap of the sixteen-year-old boy he’d fallen in love with.

He had taken Clay. For the final time, with his final steps. The kid who liked to read and scrawled poetry on the back of his arms when he couldn’t find paper. But that kid had died. The final piece of that boy, that scrape of humanity, had died in George’s fists. When he had left him, leaving him all alone with his real, honest self, more ceramic and blade than flesh.

But he did not regret it. Because Clay had been weak. He had forgiven Tommy. Had let the power slip from his fingers in favour of flour smeared on cheeks and cold fingers tracing ribs and poppies in vases filled with far too much water. Because Clay had let those poppies die, drowning. He had let Sapnap, his _brother_ , leave. Had let him steal George away too.

Clay had failed. But where he had, Dream would succeed.

“Do I have any time to speak?” Tommy asked, finally looking up at Dream. Even though they were the same height, Tommy looked so small. So fragile and thinning and wilting. He could have been great, Dream thought as he scanned over him, slowly shaking his head as Tommy’s face fell. He could have been something, if he had picked the right side.

He saw a lot of himself in Tommy. But like he’d already realised, that part of himself had failed. He had to kill it, to succeed, to steal back his own dreams from those who took them from him. He knew Tommy was going to fail, because Tommy was just like him. And if he could kill off the old part of himself, what was stopping him from killing Tommy too?

“No. No we’re going. Off the path, Tommy,” he commanded, not pausing until Tommy moved, breaking eye contact with Tubbo for the last time as Dream guided him out of ear shot. “Here,” he said as he flung Tommy a small parcel. The kid caught it, peeking inside with a raised brow.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded as he trailed after Dream, scowling at the sandwiches inside. Rain started dropping from the clouds above, splattering themselves over the scars and callouses on his hands. Drowning the soft freckles.

“We’re going to be going for a long while,” Dream told him, shrugging as he pulled his hood over his head. He didn’t miss the realisation strike Tommy’s face before he turned, picking up his pace. His legs ached, muscles feeling strained somehow. Like he was a guitar, veins the strings and the musician was tightening him until he snapped.

_Dream snarled as the note fell flat, fingers straining on the strings. From beside him, Wilbur giggled, shaking his head. Brown waves fell in his face, and the boy tried to blow them out of his eyes to no avail. He needed a fucking haircut._

_“Don’t laugh at me,” Dream pouted as he glared down at the guitar in his hands. Wilbur rolled his eyes, grinning up at him. He was lying on his back on the bed, but his legs were stretched upwards, leaning against the wall, head hanging off the side of the mattress. Dream was on the floor, legs in a basket and body tense as annoyance ripped through him._

_“I can’t help it,” Will shrugged, wriggling his brows. “You keep scrunching your nose up.”_

_“Alright, fuck this,” Dream scoffed, letting the guitar fall from his hands, moving to push himself up onto his feet and hunt down George or Sapnap._

_“No, come back, come on,” Will protested, catching him by the wrist and trying to tug him back to the floor. Dream didn’t move, watching with a deep frown, until Will swung his legs down, sliding onto the floor. He still didn’t move, until Will patted the space beside him._

_“Alright,” he started, placing his guitar back in Dream’s lap. “Here,” he said, smiling as he placed Dream’s fingers on the strings, pressing down. “And here,” he said after he strummed, moving his fingers again. Dream nodded, letting Wilbur take him through the song, strum by strum._

_“You know you’re not going to get everything first time, right?” Will asked when he pulled away, back dropping against the bedframe. Dream could feel his eyes burning craters in his neck. He didn’t reply, just started plucking._

_He got the note perfectly, ignoring Will as he scoffed with amusement, dropping his head against Dream’s shoulder and humming along._

“But I’m only exiled from L’Manberg,” Tommy protested. His voice fell flat with his words.

“No, you’re also exiled from my lands,” Dream said simply. He was growing restless. He was ready to have Tommy off of his soil, off of his realm. Out of everyone’s sight until his name was nothing more than a whisper on the books of old. “And I own everything that has been touched by the light.” He laughed, strained and cold before he rolled back his shoulders, trying to unknot himself. “Let’s go,” he said, turning to see Tommy trailing after him, head hanging.

“I’m following,” Tommy hissed, furiously rubbing his stained cheeks when he realised Dream was looking in his direction. But he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking past. To the man hovering above the ground with a bright, pretty smile on his lips. He was clasping an umbrella in one hand, waving to them with the other. He had no fingertips, grey limbs of smoke and reveries drifting off into the air before they could come to a point.

Dream wondered if he could still play the guitar, with his body of whispers and breaths and nothingness. If he had even tried. If he could even remember.

“Is he…is he?” Dream asked the question without asking it as his words trailed off, cocking his head and waving at Ghostbur from where he stood beside Tommy.

“I don’t know,” Tommy sighed, shaking his head and turning his head, back towards the direction they’d been going in. Dream blinked down at him in surprise.

“Hey guys,” Ghostbur grinned, drifting closer over to them. His voice wasn’t at all like the Wilbur’s who had blown up L’Manberg. It sounded the same as it had when Dream had first met Will. When he was fifteen, brown eyes bright and sparkling with boundless ecstasy, always clutching his guitar. Always with Techno, arms locked with his friend as he dragged him around the citadel. His voice was as high as it had been back then, prone to breaking, and dripping in saccharine.

He also looked more like he was fifteen than mid-twenties now. His scars had vanished, along with the crazed, unhinged nervousness behind his eyes. As well as the tendency to act like Tommy’s older brother. Dream had picked up on that too.

“Is he coming?” Dream asked again, watching as Ghostbur held the umbrella closer to himself, eyes scanning the clouds, stepping carefully. Interesting.

Tommy seized up, glaring at Dream. _“I don’t know!”_ he yelled, stepping away from him as he looked towards the struggling Ghostbur with a mix of disgust and pity. _Interesting_.

“If you’re gonna come,” Dream said, cupping his hands around his mouth as he called out towards Ghostbur. “You gotta come now.”

“Okay Dream,” he called back, mimicking the way he held his hands around his mouth, awkwardly keeping his umbrella up under his arm. Dream gave a huff of amusement, smiling slightly as he watched Wilbur sprint over to them, gliding effortlessly over the trodden tulips. Tommy scowled down at his scuffed trainers; hands still shoved in his pockets.

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Dream said when Ghostbur met them, starting back on his path towards the sea. The rain was soaking through his hood, and he sighed in annoyance as he tried to shake it out, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He blinked when the rain seemed to stop, turning to the side to see a smiling Ghostbur, dimples crinkling. He was holding his umbrella over the both of them, stepping in time with Dream. “Where are we going?”

“Yeah,” Tommy called from behind them. “Where _are_ we going?”

“Wherever the river takes us,” Dream mused, purposefully cryptic as they reached the docks. Ghostbur offered to share the umbrella with Tommy as the two of them watched Dream set up the boat bobbing by the dock, jumping down onto it as he gripped the oars.

Tommy hissing at Ghostbur to shut up subsided in his mind as he blinked down at the oar in his hand.

_Sapnap laughing, body relaxing with relief. Fingers sculpted from rotten flesh and dripping in icy water digging into his back. Hitting the sea, screaming out as bubbles clawed their way down his throat. Kicking and thrashing, vision blurring. Nothingness as the sea seeped into him, a dull, heavy nothingness._

Tommy’s voice snapped him out of the memory, and Dream turned, gripping the oar so tightly he could feel it splintering against his fingers. “I don’t have to come with you,” Tommy said, false confidence plastered on his face as he stared down Dream.

He hummed thoughtfully, pulling his hood down as he let the rain surround him, hair at the nape of his neck curling, water sliding down his temples, falling down his neckline and drip down his chest. Ghostbur frowned as he looked between Dream and Tommy, clutching the umbrella like a lifeline.

Dream held his hand out to Tommy. “Well, then I’ll just have to kill you.” It lacked his usual snark, the usual amusement. It was raw, and honest, and final. He was finality now. Blue eyes glanced away, and Dream was unable to tell if the damp stains on his cheeks were from the rain falling from the umbrella onto him, from the spitting, spraying sea, or from the tears that rimmed his eyes. Dream was also unable to care. Even a little bit.

Tommy didn’t take his hand, but he dropped down from the dock. The boat swayed as he sat down, facing away from Dream and burying his head away in his hands. He seemed to shrink as Dream sat down too, grabbing the other oar and gesturing for Ghostbur to get on. It was like Tommy thought he might disappear, slide away with the rain, through the cracks of the boat, disappear into the ocean.

Exhaling gently, he moved the oars, Ghostbur and his umbrella beside him. He glanced up when Ghostbur started humming, realising with a painful jolt that it was the same song he’d tried to teach him once, long and pale fingers firmly gripping his own. He bit his tongue, pushing the urge to snap at the dead man to shut up down as he rowed. Oars pushing heavily through the waves.

It was all going to be worth it now. Losing Sap. Losing George. Losing himself.

To get them back, to truly get them back like he had had them before, he would have to lose them. Would have to let them go, would have to sever all attachments. The already fraying string that was tied around their wrists, connecting the three men, was split apart with every row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the continued support guys, you have no idea how much it helps me stay motivated to write :D


	7. Butcher Army

The rain slid down Quackity’s face, slick and scratching. He watched, furiously blinking the rain from his face, as Tubbo turned to them, his own face damp. Quackity wasn’t sure if it was from the rain.

“Guys trust me,” he started, shirt sticking to his skin as he looked from Quackity to Fundy, jaw clenched. Crowds of people were gathered below, but through the wind and the pouring downfall, Quackity couldn’t make out who any of them were. Apart from the seven-foot fucker at the back, who Quackity assumed was Sam. The guy was too tall for his own good. Him and Ranboo. It was fucking irritating, having people walking about seven foot tall like it wasn’t fucking insane.

He glanced towards his own house as Tubbo backed away from them, arms outstretched like he thought Quackity and Fundy might jump him. Frowning, he noticed a light in the top window, two silhouettes watching him.

Anger spiked horribly in Quackity’s gut and his head snapped back towards Tubbo. Twisting and crawling, disbelief seared through him. “This is the best thing for our nation, its logical-”

“What do you mean, _trust me_?” Quackity yelled over the rain, the cold, burning anger screaming out in his words. It wasn’t just that Tubbo had sold out, had thrown Tommy to the wolves with seemingly no remorse. It was that he hadn’t told them. He could bullshit all about trust as much as he fucking wanted, could spew speeches of collectiveness and peace, but Quackity couldn’t believe it. Not when he had just watched Dream practically drag Tommy away.

“Trust you enough like how you trusted us enough to take on this plan, together?”

They had been fighting for so long. Against hardships and tyranny. He had stood up to Schlatt’s manipulation, had betrayed his best fucking friend as their trust cracked, unable to believe Schlatt’s murmurs of power anymore. He had watched as Tubbo, Wilbur, Tommy, watched as they had all made losing deals, for the sliver of peace they wanted. Watched as they made negotiations, gave up everything. For them to still lose.

They always seemed to fucking lose.

No matter what they promised Schlatt, Dream, Technoblade. They always fucking lost. And Quackity was done losing. He was done with the theatrics, done with bargaining with Dream, a literal fucking tyrant. He had promised himself he wouldn’t fall again, wouldn’t let himself be manipulated. Wouldn’t fall prey to dictatorship or tyranny. And here he was, standing in front of Tubbo as he yelled back in the rain, face screwed up and jabbing fingers at Quackity.

There were no horns on his head, but the ram was not far behind.

Before, Quackity would have thought about whether Tubbo was even strong enough to be like Schlatt. If his voice was loud enough, fist iron or tin. But now he just refused to entertain the idea. He would not live under another tyrant again. And he would rather take a blade and shove it through his ribcage than fucking stand to the side of one again.

“Q,” Tubbo said, voice laced in anger and frustration. Quackity winced at the nickname when Tubbo stepped forward, lips curled. He had always thought people overlooked Tubbo too often. Used to think it was a positive. Thought the boy’s sharp wit that he kept hidden for some reason was impressive. Thought his ability to spar against Phil and Sam with a proud grin on his face was amusing. Thought his knowledge of redstone and engineering was pretty fucking insane. Had always thought Tubbo had hidden behind his soft face and large eyes, had wielded his weak appearance as a weapon.

But now, Quackity was on the other side of it. And while he didn’t think he was completely useless, he knew Tubbo, even though the younger teenager was a couple inches shorter, could kick Quackity’s ass easily. The rain spat off of Tubbo’s face, the burn scars knitting across his cheeks as he screamed at Quackity.

“Were you not listening about how you wanted to all team with Technoblade!”

_“If we team with Techno, just this once, we can take out Dream,” Tommy grinned, glancing between all three of the other cabinet members. They all placed their hands in the middle, nodding in agreement. “He’s beaten Dream before, okay? I know he can do it again. And I know he fucked us over last time, but this is our only option.”_

“It made sense, we were going to team up with all of them,” Quackity objected as his hair fell in front of his face from the screaming wind, desperately trying to shove it back under his beanie. He glanced down at his house from where he stood on the walls, the silhouettes gone now. “With George and Sapnap and the Badlands. Everyone who’s against Dream.”

“And what happens as soon as we get rid of Dream?” Tubbo snarled, gesturing out towards the city. “I am in charge of L’Manberg, a _government_. Technoblade would try and kill me _again_ ,” he said, eyes pained. Quackity couldn’t tell if his voice broke off at the end, or if it was just carried off by the storm around them, the elements stealing the words out of his mouth.

“He would kill us all!” he said as he shook his head, spatters of water falling from his hair onto Quackity’s face. He scowled, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand as he pushed back.

“Are you kidding me, Tubbo? You are the president, you are something, Tubbo.” He paused, looking out to the direction Dream had taken Tommy. He wondered where they were going. How far Tommy had to go. Quackity had a sinking feeling that Tommy might never step foot in L’Manberg again. At least, not the L’Manberg he had left.

“And look at you! You’re being pushed around by a guy you have yet again negotiated with.”

Tubbo clenched his jaw, his red tie flying in the wind. It looked like his throat had been slit, crimson blood sprawling from the wound in the wind. “And what do you suggest, then?” he demanded, blue eyes hardening over.

“I suggest the plan we already fucking had,” Quackity laughed humourlessly. “We go against him.”

They had to unroot Dream. Tubbo just didn’t understand how fucking bad it had gotten. Sure, he knew Dream had dethroned George. He had sat beside Quackity as they watched Dream lower the crown onto Eret’s head, grinning under his ceramic mask. The crown had sent golden light streaming in Quackity’s direction as he sat in the pew, in the castle. He had to squint to look at Dream.

But Tubbo hadn’t seen Sapnap and George, standing outside Quackity’s door, clinging onto each other like if they let go, the rain would drown them. Dark, damp hair hanging limply. George sobbing breathlessly, face hidden in Sapnap’s chest. The younger man opening his mouth and closing it again a couple of times before he shook his head at Quackity, tightening his hold on George.

“Sorry for turning up like this, Q, but…we don’t have anywhere else to go,” Sapnap had murmured, and Quackity had never seen his face so honest, so strained. “I didn’t know who else to go to, Alex,” he had breathed, voice normally so amused, so taunting and leaking with sadistic power. Voice broken.

Tubbo hadn’t seen what Dream had done to his family. And if he could do that to George and Sapnap, what could he do to them? What was he going to do to Tommy?

“We go against him with _what_?” Tubbo demanded. Quackity flinched when the younger boy unsheathed the ornate sword that sat at his hip, the blade licked with rain. But then Tubbo threw it to Quackity’s feet with a strained snarl. Quackity didn’t move, didn’t pick it up. Just blinked down at his reflection, distorted in the movement of the metal. “We have nothing.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” Quackity asked with wide, accusing eyes. “You’re no longer in power anymore Tubbo. You have just given all the power you held to that fucking asshole,” he yelled, stepping over the blade as he glared down at the younger boy.

“I had to get these walls down, no matter what,” Tubbo howled back at him, fists curling at his side.

“Fundy, did we or not have an agreement?” Quackity asked, looking over his shoulder to the man who was standing behind, hesitant as his auburn hair turned brown with the rain. 

“You did agree Tubbo,” Fundy said sadly, scratching the back of his neck. His disappointment, sliding from his fingers and pooling at his scuffed boots with the rain was a sharp contrast to the icy anger coursing through Quackity. The clouds drifted over the darkening sky, thick and grey and wrathful.

“Tubbo, listen to me,” he said, grabbing onto Tubbo’s shoulders. “I understand where you’re coming from. But this little bit of power, respect, _dignity_ we had left in this goddamn city, you’ve given away.”

Tubbo shouldered Quackity off of him, stepping around him and elegantly picking up the sword. For a split second, he thought Tubbo might stick it through his chest, rip him undone completely. But he just looked down at it, tracing the edge with his fingers, biting on his bottom lip.

“No,” he shook his head before he looked up. “ _We’ve_ given it away.” Quackity’s brows knotted together as Tubbo shoved the sword into his chest, Quackity gripping the hilt as Tubbo turned, shooting Quackity a glare over his shoulder. “You’re the VP now.”

Silence fell as Tubbo walked towards the stairs, boots slick against the wet obsidian. When he passed Fundy, the other man spoke up, eyes wide and pained. “You made a deal with the literal devil.”

Tubbo blinked up at him, lips pressed together into a firm line. And then he shrugged, walking down the stairs. Quackity glanced at Fundy, who was watching Tubbo with a solemn acceptance, as if the fight had fizzled out of him. Fundy looked back at him, shrugging as if to say, what can you do? Clenching his jaw, Quackity gestured for Fundy to follow, trailing after Tubbo. The stairs were slick with rain, Quackity almost slipping a couple of times before his feet hit the ground.

“Why didn’t you tell us that was what you were going to do?” Quackity asked as he caught up to Tubbo, jumping in front of him so he had to speak to him. He couldn’t just walk off. Not when they had one less man than they started the day off with.

Tubbo sighed, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know until I, until I saw…” he trailed off, arching a brow at Quackity and tilting his head up. “What’s your idea then Quackity?”

Before he could speak, before he could finally show Tubbo what he had been planning, prove his loyalty, Fundy spoke. “I have one,” he said, stepping up beside Quackity. He watched as Fundy pulled a small notebook from inside his jacket, handing it to Tubbo.

“What is this?” The younger boy asked, tapping his fingers against the leather sleeve of the book. His breathing hitched when he opened it, plump drops of water hitting the pages, ink pooling onto his fingers like ichor. “An official hitlist,” he breathed. Quackity blinked, moving so he could read over Tubbo’s shoulder.

“Schlatt, Wilbur, Technoblade,” he read out as he thumbed the pages, each man having their own file, printed in neat handwriting. “Dream,” he said, clearing his throat when he reached the last page. Unlike the other files, which had information noted down, data and names and references, Dream’s page was almost blank.

The only thing printed on the page was a list of his crimes.

“There are two people on that who are alive,” Tubbo breathed. Quackity didn’t miss the hesitation in his voice. The way his fingers paused on Technoblade’s file, eyes darting down to the names of his allies.

_Phil, Tommy, Wilbur. Family? Brothers in arms. Loyalty runs how deep?_

“If we get rid of them,” Fundy said with a tired smile. Tubbo closed the book, holding it out to Fundy like it might poison him. “We’ll be okay.”

“Come with me,” Quackity said suddenly, eyes narrowing as Tubbo kept his eyes trained on the ground. “I need to show you guys something.” He led them under the foundations of L’Manberg, walking carefully along the banks of the lake the city was built upon. Smiling, he uncovered the tunnel he had spent days mining out, ignoring the looks of questioning the two other men shot him.

Fundy swore under his breath when he stepped over the threshold, Tubbo covering his mouth as he came up behind him. “Fellas,” Quackity started, leaning against the table in the middle of the basement. Chains and hooks hung from the high ceiling, perfect for a butcher’s, perfect for hunters too.

Wanted posters had been rudimentarily pasted to the walls, prototypes of posters they could hang across the city, across the whole damn country. Technoblade’s face stared blankly back at them, red eyes mocking and cruel. Quackity dug his hands into the table.

“I fucking hate traitors,” he grinned, drinking it in as Fundy and Tubbo wandered around, flicking the chains and watching as they swung in the air. Quackity had never cared about something this much. Had never wanted to fight for something so badly it hurt him at night, snuck its way into his brain, into his heart. He had a home now, something he hadn’t properly had in years. And he wasn’t going to ever give that up without a fight. And he wouldn’t let people stand in his way anymore.

Not traitors, who thought their fucked-up ideals of morality let them murder and manipulate. Not dickheads who threatened his home, his peace, his friends.

He had never been trusted like he was now. Schlatt had never asked for his opinion, had never given a shit what he thought about anything. He had pretended to care about him, to keep him on a leash, to keep power over him. But now he had a say in what happened. He had sway. And he would be fucking damned if he didn’t use his voice for the greater good. If he didn’t tear down the people who threatened his happiness.

“Which is why Tubbo,” he continued as Tubbo turned to face him, lips parted in surprise. “I was so insistent that we couldn’t let Dream do this anymore, I..”

“I had no idea,” Tubbo murmured, fingers tracing the handle of a machete that hung from the ceiling. The metal glinted from the light of the torches.

“Let’s start this hitlist,” Quackity grinned, slamming a fist on the table. Fundy and Tubbo gathered around, eyes ablaze with a newfound focus, a newfound togetherness.

“We start with the person who has done the most physical damage to our country,” Tubbo said, pointing viciously at the poster on the wall.

“Technoblade,” Quackity murmured, the name sticking in his teeth.

“Technoblade,” Tubbo nodded. He paused, kissing his teeth, before his eyes hesitantly flicked up to meet Quackity’s. “I would consider us on neutral terms with Dream now.”

“No, no,” he objected, shaking his head furiously. Tubbo scrunched up his face in annoyance, brows furrowing and nose creasing. “We can lie low,” he tried, but Quackity cut him off.

“Tubbo, you cannot say that. We are not on neutral terms with the guy who-”

“No, no, Quackity, Dream thinks we’re on his side,” Fundy said, nodding towards Tubbo, who smiled at the vouch in appreciation. Quackity pressed his lips together but kept his mouth shut. “We followed his orders, we exiled…” he trailed off, the air in the room suffocating for a second as blue eyes, wide and slightly terrified, played over in Quackity’s eyes.

Fundy cleared his throat before he continued. “Dream thinks we’re submissive to him. But once we take out Technoblade, we can take out Dream.”

Quackity nodded in begrudging agreement. He was outnumbered anyway, he had to go with the majority. They would get Dream one day. And they would get Tommy back.

“Techno used withers, he fucked with us,” Tubbo said, throat bobbing. “We go after Techno. Attack the problem through the root.”

“We need propaganda, we need to let people know this man is dangerous,” Quackity said, rolling his shoulders back as they started to leave the basement, their steps against the stone floor echoing, deafening. “If we take down Technoblade, then go after Dream, we’re golden. You want power, Tubbo?” Quackity asked as they reached the city square. The rain was still falling, dripping down their noses, settling onto their lashes.

“This is how you get it.”

“So, what’s the plan, Mr President?” Fundy asked after Tubbo nodded. Quackity shivered, not fully grasping just how fucking cold he was until he realised, he couldn’t feel his toes in his shoes. They felt like blocks of ice cut up and rammed into the soles of his shoes. Burying himself in his jumper, he tried to listen to Tubbo, hoping from foot to foot.

“We start the printing presses; I don’t want any inch of this city not covered in wanted posters. From this day forward, we will fight together, agree together. Every decision, every thought we have is everyone’s. Nothing is kept privately.” Fundy was nodding along, but Quackity just shot a glance towards his home, towards the smoke funnelling out of the chimney and floating into the dark sky.

“From this day forth, we fight, we get back on track. The train may have been derailed but we still have momentum.”

Quackity left before Tubbo finished speaking, excusing himself as he shoved his hands flushed with the cold into his pockets. He passed Ranboo, ignoring the weird looks the kid shot him as he brushed past. Who was he kidding, everything that kid did was fucking weird.

Sighing, he walked up the stairs that led to his own house, smiling for the first time that day when he heard voices coming from inside. Fingers on the doorknob, he swore under his breath when someone shouted his name. He turned to see Karl sprinting towards him, eyes blown out in panic, panting heavily as he reached Quackity.

He was completely drenched, but he didn’t even seem to realise as he leapt up Quackity’s stairs, gripping desperately onto the other man’s arms. Karl was speaking, but he couldn’t string any coherent sentences from the babble falling breathlessly from his lips.

“Karl, breathe,” Quackity tried to calm the other man down, holding onto his elbows, as Karl looked around them wildly. He tugged Karl under the porch, brushing his damp hair out of the man’s face with his knuckles, but Karl didn’t even seem to notice. His hold on Quackity tightened.

“What happened, Quackity? What did they do? What happened to Dream?” he demanded, eyes snapping onto Quackity’s face. His dark browns knotted in confusion. He’d never heard Karl speak like this. With this much conviction.

“What are you talking about?” Quackity asked, shaking his head. “Nothing happened to Dream. How did you even know about the meeting?” The only logical thought was that Sap had told him, but Sapnap was here, right on the other side of the wall. Actually, the voices from inside had stopped, leaving Quackity with a flushed Karl and the pattering rain.

Sapnap couldn’t have told Karl. So who did?

Before he could ask again, Karl looked at him, grey eyes cold. Borderline unrecognisable. It was like the Karl he knew, his Karl, had disappeared. Replaced with this anxiety ridden, slightly pissed off man in front of him.

“What did they do, Alex?” Karl breathed, voice low, nails digging into his arms.

“They exiled Tommy,” Quackity found himself saying. He didn’t know how the fuck Karl knew about the meeting, or about Dream. But he trusted him. Trusted him more than the people he was meant to be loyal to, who he had sworn himself to.

Karl’s face dropped, his grip on Quackity loosening until he completely let go, slumping backwards onto the front door. “Shit,” he breathed, digging his hands into his hair.

“I know,” Quackity nodded, toeing at the wooden planks beneath them with his shoes. “It’s pretty fucking scuffed.” Karl just looked up at him, lips slightly parted, pale face gaunt, as if he and Quackity were somehow having two wildly different conversations. Before he could ask what was up, the door was being opened. At first, it was pulled open only an inch, but when George saw Quackity, he sighed with relief and yanked it open the whole way.

He didn’t see Karl leaning against it. Thankfully, Sapnap did, catching the other man before the floor ate his face. “Got you, Jacobs,” he grinned as he helped Karl up. Karl rolled his eyes before he elbowed Sapnap out of the way, walking further into Quackity’s house.

“So, this is where you two have been hiding,” he mused, pointing between George and Sapnap as Quackity shut the door, flicking the lock behind him. George and Sapnap shared a glance between each other, and Quackity shuddered as he walked past them. It was fucking creepy, the way they could communicate without speaking. Scared the shit out of him. Was also incredibly exclusive, but whatever, they could keep their secrets.

“The fuck were you two doing?” Quackity asked with an arched brow as he took in the strewn pillows all over the living room, chess pieces scattered in front of the fireplace.

“We were playing chess,” George said with a shrug, as if that much wasn’t evident. Quackity was pretty sure the pieces were meant to stay on the board when you were playing chess. “Sapnap cheated.”

“You’re such a fucking sore loser,” Sap scoffed, shoving George face first into the pile of cushions on the floor.

“Yeah, and why is all my shit on the floor?” Quackity asked as he dropped down beside George, the warm flames flickering happily in front of him a welcomeness compared to the howling storm outside. He spread his arms out, bones feeling achy as he let his eyes flutter shut.

“Sapnap thought starting a pillow fight was a reasonable reaction to losing,” George snorted from beside him, and when Quackity opened his eyes, Sapnap was sitting on the couch and glaring, like he could set George alight with the sheer annoyance in his eyes.

“You’re drenched,” George commented, pointedly ignoring Sap as he elbowed Quackity in the ribs. Amazing goddamn observation. He hissed, kicking George away from him as he grunted. “Don’t fucking care. M’tired.”

Karl laughed as he flopped down beside Sapnap, letting his head rest against the other’s shoulder. No one else but Quackity noticed the nervous strain in his whole body as he moved.

Quackity found himself falling asleep on his floor, covered in his nice, fancy pillows, even though he had a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs. George snored in his ear, and he didn’t have the heart to wake him up as the warmth of the other man and the soft fire lulled him away from everything he wanted to forget.

As he was passing out, he heard Sapnap and Karl speaking on the couch, voices hushed as to not wake their friends. “You know I’m not going to rat you and George out, right?”

A pause. A sigh. “I know, I just…”

“It’s alright. I get it.”

The words distorted into nothingness as Quackity fell asleep to the rhythm of George’s breathing. When he woke up, pawing at the sleep in his eyes, he stepped over George still sprawled out on the floor, smiling at Karl and Sap still on the couch, a blanket half draped on the former as the latter hogged most of it to himself. Light poured into the small house, creamy and soft. Before he left, shoving his feet into his boots, he threw on a pot of coffee, knowing how irritated Sapnap got if he didn't drink any in the morning. As the water boiled, he left, the door clicking shut softly behind him, leaving the three other men to their sleep.

That morning, on his way to meet Phil to discuss the mine they were trying to set up for L’Manberg, he noticed a piece of paper pinned above the hole in the obsidian wall with an arrow. He read it once, then read it again before he shoved it in his pocket to show Tubbo later. Biting down the urge to rip it up and drop it on the border of L’Manberg to the asshole who had left it there for them.

_We now officially recognise L’Manberg as its own country, removed from the possession of yours truly. Well done on following my advice and exiling Tommy Innit. I hope our countries’ relations can continue to be friendly from now on. - :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys didn't mind that this one was shorter than normal :D
> 
> thanks for all the support!
> 
> cannon fiancés? maybe? we'll see


	8. One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh baby that manipulation is s t a r t i n g

_“Well, I’ve still got all my things.” It was still pissing it down, and Tommy’s skin was starting to feel less and less like his skin, and more like a film coating his body. Ghostbur stood beside him, clutching the umbrella as it hung over the two of them. Dream was digging the toe of his boot into the mud, sloppy and wet._

_Tommy’s throat bobbed as he glanced over his shoulder, out towards the sea that now separated him from his home, his friends. From everything. He was stuck on a beach, with a fucking psychopath and an annoying ass ghost. It was bullshit. It was all fucking bullshit._

_“Yeah,” Dream nodded, continuing to create some sort of hole in the dirt. Tommy hated how calm the man was being. He didn’t even seem victorious, like he always was. Like when he had blown up L’Manberg, when he had beaten Tommy in the duel, when Techno had unleashed the withers. He was just acting like this was an everyday occurrence._

_He wasn’t even being excessively bitchy like normal either. No insults were flung, well, none from Dream. Tommy was still hurling all the cruel words he could at him. No wheezing laugh as the mouth under the mash tilted up into a grin. He was acting like they were friends. It was fucking with Tommy’s head. Dream should be happy. He had won. He had finally gotten what he had wanted._

_“Give me a minute then I’ll take them,” Dream said, head looking up towards Tommy. He glared back at the ceramic mask. The ink on it was smudging in the rain. Dream didn’t even seem to care. Ghostbur had offered to let him stand under it with them, but Dream had just shaken his head, letting his blond curls drip with water._

_Tommy didn’t even answer him. He glanced around his surroundings as he gripped his sword in his hands, trying to think of some way, anyway, he could get out of this mess. “We’re gonna be okay.” He looked up to see Ghostbur smiling down at him, head tilted and eyes crinkling. An inexplicable rage shot through Tommy._ We?

_“It’s not gonna be fucking okay,” he hissed back, scowling deeper when Ghostbur just blinked down at him, dead behind his grey, saturated, lifeless eyes. He looked like he might speak, and Tommy would make a safe bet he was going to spew out more nonsense, when Dream gestured for him to come forward, arms folded across his chest. He moved, feeling like he could deal with Dream better than he could with Ghostbur right now. At least Dream was straight up just a dick. He didn’t try to hide behind kind smiles. He was honest, Tommy would give him that. But that was the only good thing the man had going for him._

_But Ghostbur was just…Tommy couldn’t deal with him ever, especially not now. He knew that it wasn’t his fault what Wilbur had done. The ghost couldn’t remember, was practically a completely different person to who Wilbur had been in the caves. But he wore the same face, the same voice. He pretended like he knew Tommy, but he didn’t. Because he didn’t remember any of the shitty things he had done to him. Or any of the shitty things Tommy had done to Wilbur. He didn’t even remember the shitty things they’d gone through together, side by side._

_And while Tubbo and Phil seemed fine with Ghostbur hanging about like mould, Tommy wasn’t. He didn’t want Ghostbur. He didn’t want this weird fucking shell of the man he had called his brother. He didn’t want a whisper of Wilbur, an imprint left in the snow. He wanted his brother back. He wanted his brother back so much it hurt him. And seeing Ghostbur, hearing Wilbur’s voice that used to sing to him, that would say it was going to be okay after battles, after wars, after nightmares and after Tommy cut his knee open…it just made it harder. Impossibly so._

_“Tommy, give me all your things,” Dream demanded. Tommy slowly realised what was happening as he blinked down at the rudimental hole, then back up at the mask streaming with ink. It looked like Dream was crying. Tommy wondered if he had ever cried before, if he had ever had anything he cared about enough to cry for._

_“Alright Dream,” Ghostbur nodded as he stepped up to the hole, tossing down flowers and crinkled pages into the dirt. Dream smiled up at him, thanking him before they both turned to Tommy._

_“No Ghostbur, no,” Tommy snarled before he sneered at Dream, stepping away from the older man, clutching his sword to his chest, the axe strapped to his back a steady anchor. “I’m not giving you my things.”_

_“Drop them down,” Dream said slowly, carefully. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to Dream’s hands, strangled with white as he tightened his grip on his sword. On the sword still stained with Tommy’s blood, like a prize. Like a reminder._

_“Or what?”_

_“Or I’ll kill you.”_

_“Well,” Tommy started, straightening his back. He looked down at his left hand, at the stumps where his fingers should have been. He wriggled his right leg, knowing that under his jeans there was another scar, left over from Dream’s arrow, white and ugly against his skin, leaving his muscles a bit of a shit show that still meant he couldn’t run as fast as Tubbo. Dream had tried to kill him too many times now. There had to be a reason why he failed, every single time._

_“I don’t care,” Tommy finished, and he surprised himself at the amount of honesty in his words. Dream didn’t respond, but his jaw locked. Before Tommy could even move, Dream’s arm was slicing through the air, the back of his hand connecting with Tommy’s cheek with such a force that it sent him to the ground._

_His knees slammed against the mud, spraying up onto his clothes as Tommy instinctively prodded at his cheek. His eyes pricked with pain and frustration, but mostly with embarrassment. He had beaten Dream in the war, had managed to get the man on his knees. Had thought he would be able to do it again, holding onto Spirit as leverage that he thought would win him the whole thing._

_And here he was, kneeling before Dream with tears in his eyes, head hanging as the ghost of his dead brother floated behind him, placing a hand that was meant to be comforting, but was just cold and empty, on Tommy’s back._

_“Alright, okay,” Tommy breathed as he dropped his sword into the dirt hole, the metal falling from his fingers. Dream watched, shaking out his hand he had used to backhand Tommy, as he unbuckled the axe from his back. It hit against the sword with a horrible clanging sound._

_Tommy flinched when Dream lit a stick of dynamite, not even warning them before it blew up. Mud flew into Tommy’s mouth, into his eyes, all over his face as Dream stepped away, untouched. He wiped desperately at his face, terror and panic settling into his bones finally, after hours of travelling But the mud didn’t come off, and Tommy just kept rubbing it into his skin._

_“Here.” Tommy glanced up to see Dream crouching down next to him, holding out a parcel of wrapped steak. He dropped it onto Tommy’s lap before he held some to Ghostbur, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wilbur, eat.”_

_“I don’t want your pity steak,” Tommy spat, but it lacked the fury and violence he meant it to have. When Dream just looked at him, something like pity on the bottom half of his face, Tommy resisted the sudden urge to burst into tears. Here he was, sitting in the mud in the pissing rain, his greatest enemy feeling bad for him._ _“Fuck off,” Tommy said, burying his face in his arms after he lobbed the steak at Dream’s head._

_“You need it, Tommy.” He heard Dream say and felt a hand on his shoulder that was too solid, too warm to be Ghostbur’s. He refused to look up. The rain slid through his clothes, sticking to his back. His cheek burned furiously. His throat bobbed when the hand left his shoulder, patting him once._

_“Have some blue, Tommy,” Ghostbur said, and Tommy unfurled himself to see the ghost pressing dried petals into his hands. “Calm yourself. Bye Dream.” It was only then did Tommy look up, pushing himself to his feet as he stumbled after the blond. Dream paused, glancing over his shoulder as he watched Tommy slip on the wet mud crater, letting out a frustrated scream and digging his nails into the dirt._

_“See you never,” Dream said before he gave a salute, casually tossing a pearl, and disappearing off into the storm. Tommy let out a broken sob then, his cheek ablaze, and his chest burning up. He was alone. He was alone._

Tommy woke up with his damp hair sticking to his forehead. Breathing so heavily he was almost panting. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he realised why he’d woken up. Normally, he got to the end of the memory, of pitching up a crappy tent in the thundering rain, Ghostbur telling him his cheek had a red outline on it, fisting his hands into his hair. But not today. Today he must have woken up from the damp puddle he was lying in.

Grunting, he stood up, toeing at the blanket he had been using to sleep with. It was drenched, and his clothes were damp, sticking to his stomach and arms. Eyeing the tent, he realised with a sinking heart that it was irreparable. It must have snapped in the wind during the night, the pole in the middle splintered, and the cloth torn. He scrambled outside watching the thing collapse in on itself.

Well, it wasn’t like he had anything of worth anyway. He had crappy armour he’d managed to trade the blacksmith for, in the tiny shitty village near his campsite. He had armour, and he had a golden sword that hung at his side, and that was all he really needed, he guessed. The sword was blunt as shit, but he just liked the feeling of his at his side, the familiar weight of it.

And his tent had done him well for two weeks, he supposed. Stretching out his arms, he watched the sun start to rise up over the horizon. He glanced to his right, watching as a funnel of smoke cartwheeled across the blue sky, the smell of cooking fish causing Tommy’s stomach to scream out with hunger. He gritted his teeth as he looked over the campsite Ghostbur had built. Fucking Logstedshire or some shit.

There were walls of wood to keep out the monsters that crawled over the plains during the night. And Ghostbur’s tent hadn’t snapped in half. He would just go see. He wouldn’t take anything from the man, had already refused to stay with him in his fucking camp.

He grabbed Wilbur’s coat from the remains of his tent, wrapping it around himself before he set off. Ghostbur was hovering around his campsite when Tommy peeked his head inside. Humming, the man poked at salmon that were lying on a fire, Tommy’s mouth watering horribly. He could sit down, it wasn’t like Ghostbur owned warmth. He wasn’t accepting anything if he just sat down. He was a free man; he could sit wherever he wanted.

“You’re all wet,” Ghostbur said as a welcoming when Tommy dropped down beside the campfire, his eyes shutting at the feeling of warmth against his skin. He didn’t deign that stupid fucking observation a response, humming in acknowledgment as he reached his hands over the flames.

“What happened?” He blinked his eyes open one at a time when he felt Ghostbur sit down beside him legs crossed together.

“My tent snapped,” Tommy said, voice strained with annoyance. He could feel himself fraying, the tether he had on reality slipping. It had been loose for years, first splitting in the war of Independence, but now he had to remind himself who he was, where he was. That he was Tommy, and he had done nothing wrong. Tubbo had put him here, Tubbo had fucked up. Not him. Actually, maybe it had been snapping ever since he had run away from home with Tubbo, too terrified of monsters to sleep at night, and too untrusting of other people to stop moving during the day.

“There’s space in my tent,” Ghostbur offered gently, gesturing to the blue tent pitched in the ground. Blankets and pillows were neatly packed into the side, lanterns hanging from the support beams. Tommy gritted his teeth and shook his head. He was used to giving up pretty fucking easily when it came to menial shit like this. He couldn’t cook, or pitch a fucking tent, or build furniture or effectively gather supplies. But he’d always just been able to pout and strop until Wilbur or Tubbo had caved in, doing it for him.

He couldn’t do that anymore. The only thing he had left now was his dignity. And he would be dammed if he gave that up. He could take being wet for a couple of nights.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Ghostbur asked, not sounding hurt, but just genuinely curious. Tommy unlocked his jaw, tilting his head from where it rested on his arms to glare up at the impostor who wore his dead brother’s skin.

“Because I’m not taking your fucking pity shit, okay? I don’t need your help.”

Ghostbur was quiet for a moment before he shook his head, grey hair falling into his face. “You don’t let anyone help you. You never ask for help.”

“Who the fuck am I going to ask for help, dickhead? I’ve been fucking exiled! I can’t go anywhere,” he was shouting now, but he couldn’t help it. The irritation that had been soaking through him for the past two weeks was catching up, and Ghostbur just so happened to be in his way.

“You could go and find Technoblade.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Wilbur and Techno were the ones who fucked me over. They betrayed me. I thought they were my family and they just…They’re the reasons why this shit happened,” Tommy growled, gesturing around them. Fucking Technoblade. He’d come here to help Tommy, had come after Tommy had begged him. And then he’d tried to kill him, had tried to destroy the very thing he had come to save.

Ghostbur blinked down at him before he shrugged awkwardly, poking at the cooking fish. “Well, that’s not _my_ fault.”

“No, no, it is,” Tommy laughed sadly, shaking his head.

“But I made it up to you, I…I built the campsite for you,” Ghostbur said, voice almost pleading as he gripped Tommy’s hands in his own. “We’re having a nice holiday together.”

“It isn’t a fucking holiday, dickhead!” Tommy yelled as he yanked his hands away from Ghostbur, stumbling up to his feet. Fuck this shit, he would just have to pitch up a new tent on his own. “And I did not ask you to stay here with me. You are not my fucking brother, okay? You’re not even my friend, you’re not even a real fucking person!” He was breathing heavily, gripping his hair tightly in his fingers like he might tear it out of his fucking skull.

He looked up when Ghostbur didn’t respond, throat hoarse and shaking slightly. Ghostbur wasn’t even looking at Tommy, brows knitted together as he stared off into the distance. Tommy sighed in half relief at the silence, and half annoyance at the complete lack of care Ghostbur seemed to have for anything.

“Why is Sam here?” Tommy’s head snapped up at that.

“What?” he muttered under his breath, turning over his shoulder to where Ghostbur was looking. Sam was standing at the entrance to Logstedshire, leaning against the wooden wall, a cardboard box in his arms. He wore simple clothes, a green sweater and jeans, but they were clean. Tommy suddenly felt his neck flush, blinking down at his own clothes, torn and soiled and swiped with sweat and dirt.

Sam was off-putting. Always had been a bit fucking weird, Tommy thought. He had always reminded him a bit of Dream. The guy always wore a green piece of fabric tied over his eyes, tied in a neat knot at the back of his blond hair. The first time he had ever met Sam, he had thought it was Dream. Same voice, same sandy hair, same toothy grin.

_“What the fuck have you done to your eyes?” Tommy asked, brows furrowing as he looked up at Dream. They were at a meeting in the Holy Lands, and while Tommy didn’t really know what it was about, Tubbo had asked him to come. And here he was, while Tubbo, the President, was running late._

_Dream cocked his head down at Tommy, lips pressed together in confusion. Sapnap, who was sitting beside the blond, was giggling into his hands, shaking his head. Tommy glared at the both of them as Sapnap wiped mock tears from his eyes._

_“I’m sorry, I don’t-” Dream started, but Tommy cut him off._

_“Is this some kind of weird mind fuck?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. He gestured with his head to the basket of golden apples, ripe and shining, sitting at Dream’s feet. “The fuck have you got that for, then?”_

_Dream smiled kindly, and it was a sight Tommy had never seen before. He instinctively stepped backwards when Dream stood, picked up the basket, and held it out to Tommy. His fingers ghosted over his own left hand, tracing the scarred skin. “Why the fuck are you giving this to me?” he asked, not moving to take them from the other man’s hands._

_“A peace offering,” he replied instantly, smile growing wider. Tommy shuddered before he turned to Sapnap, who looked like he was going to piss himself he was laughing so hard._

_“Alright dickhead,” Tommy scowled, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Dream, who, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. He just kind of frowned, looking down at the apples in his hands. Tommy wondered if he could see through the weird fabric knotted over his eyes, resting on the bridge of his nose. “The fuck is going on?”_

_Sapnap rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up off of his seat, clapping his hands together as he composed himself. He pushed one finger down on Tommy’s blade, arching a dark eyebrow, the look on his face clear. Tommy pouted, but he let the sword fall to his side. It_ was _the Holy Lands after all._

_“This isn’t Dream,” Sapnap said, nostrils flaring in amusement as he tried to bite down another laugh. Tommy watched in confusion as Sapnap clapped Not-Dream on the shoulders._

_“Of course, it’s-”_

_“This is Sam,” Sapnap said, taking the basket from ‘Sam’s’ hands and roughly shoving it into Tommy’s chest. He had to let his sword clatter to the floor to grab onto it. “And he’s being nice to you, Tommy.”_

_Tommy didn’t reply, instead looking back at the blond. He cocked his head as he did a quick scan. He was taller than Dream, he supposed. Taller by quite a bit actually. And he was broader, more filled out than Dream. And his nose didn’t look broken, like he remembered Dream’s being. And there wasn’t that white slash through the side of his face, breaking into his lips._

_But he was wearing a lot of fucking green, what the hell else was Tommy supposed to think?_

_“You sound a lot like Dream,” Tommy told Sam as the taller man bent down to pick up his sword._

_“Yeah,” Sam replied, nodding as Tommy took the weapon from him, strapping it back at his side. “We have a few similarities, I guess.”_

_“Oh, so you’re also a dickhead? A literal fucking psychopath?” he asked innocently, beaming up at Sam as Sapnap growled from where he sat, picking at the skin around his nails. “Tommy,” he warned, voice low, but Tommy ignored him, keeping his eyes on Sam._

_“I wouldn’t say I am, no,” Sam said, tone even. Tommy snorted, rolling his eyes before he took his own seat, dumping the basket on the table. Where the fuck was Tubbo?_

_“Dream was meant to come to this,” Tommy said as he leaned over to glare at Sapnap. The other man didn’t even look up at him, biting at his nails._

_“He’s busy,” Sapnap shrugged._

_“Busy doing what? Pissing about with Gogy? Thought the motherfucker had a country to run.” Sapnap snorted at that, a genuine smirk creeping up on his face, but he didn’t reply. Instead, Sam looked at Tommy, the same fucking smile on his face. And even though he now knew it wasn’t Dream, which made sense given Sam’s skin was not littered in scars or freckles, he still kept seeing that grin on Dream’s face as he purred, sword hissing through the air._

_“I’m here in his place.”_

_“Why?”_

_Sam paused, and even though Tommy couldn’t see his eyes, he felt the man blinking down at him. “Because Dream trusts me.”_

_“Dream tell you to bring these?” he asked, picking up one of the apples and tossing it up into the air. He caught it in his open palm, running it over his fingers._

_“Nope,” Sam smiled softly, blond hair falling in his face as he shook his head. “That was all me.”_

Before Tommy could say anything, Ghostbur was hovering over to the man, beckoning him over to the campfire. “Please Sam,” Ghostbur said in that dismal, wishful voice. “Have some blue.” Tommy watched, body still as Ghostbur tugged on one of Sam’s hands, pressing down blue petals into the man’s palm. They crunched when Sam closed his hand over, thanking Wilbur, and the sound sent invisible claws dragging through Tommy’s flesh.

“I came to deliver a message,” Sam said as he reached Tommy. When he didn’t respond, arching an eyebrow down at the box in his hands, Sam seemed to remember he was carrying something. “Oh, and pie,” he added, laughing awkwardly as he held the box out to Tommy. He gingerly took it, peeking inside.

And it looked so nicely made, the frosting so perfect and untouched, smelled so much better than raw fish, that Tommy silently tightened his hold on the box, defensively clutching it to his chest in case Sam tried to take it back.

“What do you want?” he demanded, slightly turning away from the man as he pushed his tongue into his cheek.

“I’m sorry you were sent away,” Sam said, smiling sadly. Suddenly, Tommy was hit with the sharp, painful realisation that this was the first person he had seen in a fortnight other than his dead fucking brother. It was the first person who had even tried to come and visit him, try and help him.

“But if you ever need a place to stay, you can come to me,” he offered, arm reaching out to touch Tommy’s shoulder. He instinctively flinched, remembering the last time he’d had an actual person lay a hand on him. His cheek burned up at the memory. Sam sighed, but he didn’t comment on it, his arm falling back to his side. “I’m far enough away from them.”

“You’re mates with Dream.” He didn’t ask, because he already knew how loyal Sam was to the other man. Had seen the warm looks they’d shared in meetings, the way Sam would ruffle his hair like Dream was just a kid, like Dream was his younger brother or some shit, and not the murdering bastard who had fucked Tommy’s leg and sliced his goddamn fingers off.

“I am,” Sam answered anyway, and while he didn’t look ashamed, or remotely guilty, he looked sad. A bit faraway. Tommy nodded, digging his fingers into the box. Then he nodded again, and took a step forward, smashing the box back into Sam’s chest. The older man’s lips parted in surprise, grabbing onto the box containing the ruined dessert before it fell onto the ground.

“So, fuck off,” Tommy breathed. He shoved past Sam, leaving him and Ghostbur in Logstedshire as he hiked back up to his own spot. He paused at the mess of his tent, folding his arms as he surveyed it. Well, none of it was reparable. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t just make a new one. He’d done it before, with no one’s help. He could do it again.

He walked for an hour before he made it to the village, scavenging what he could find for the minimal things he had in his pockets. He ended up with a couple sheets of canvas, and wooden poles that were stronger than the last ones. Humming, he made his way back to his beach, a newfound optimism settling into his bones as he dropped all of his new materials onto the grass.

How hard could pitching a tent possible be? If a fucking ghost could do it, so could he.

He worked for an hour before a voice sounded behind him. “Give me your stuff.” Tommy flinched at the familiar tone, but he didn’t turn around. He straightened his back, tightening his hold on the pole he was holding.

“I don’t have anything,” he said, voice coming out cooler than he felt. Inside, he was burning, blood running through his body ablaze. Dream stepped in front of him, lazily leaning against the other wooden pole Tommy had successfully managed to hammer into the damp soil.

He was forced to look up at him, blowing his hair out of his face as Dream’s mask blinked back at him. The wet ink had dried from the last time, and now it looked like there were permanent weeping tears coming from the smiley face.

“Your armour,” Dream pointed out, stepping forward and gripping onto the iron shoulder plate Tommy was wearing. He didn’t back away from the touch, too terrified of what might happen if he did. He didn’t think he was scared of death, but he was scared of dying to Dream.

“This is mine,” he weakly protested, refusing to look up to meet the gaze he felt burning into his skin. He tried to look around for Ghostbur, for Sam, for anyone, but Dream just tightened his hold on his arm. “I made this,” he begged, Dream’s fingers on his arm weirdly solid.

“Yeah, I know,” Dream nodded. His voice was soft and so unlike Dream, that it caught Tommy off guard. “Well done.” That made Tommy snap his gaze upwards. Because it had sounded genuine, terrifyingly so. Just like the light smile painted on his lips. He didn’t let go of his arm though, even as Tommy blinked up at him in shock.

“Now, drop it in the hole.” Those words broke the weird spell that had fallen over Tommy. Those words were a reminder, as to who Dream was, who Tommy was, and where they were. What they were to each other.

“No,” Tommy refused, tugging his arm out of Dream’s hold. “You can’t come here and just demand things,” he said, baring his teeth.

“ _Tommy_ ,” Dream sighed, like he was just acting like a child. Like Dream was his brother trying to get Tommy to eat his vegetables as he squirmed and refused.

“What?” Tommy asked, voice raising an octave as panic threatened to choke him out. “What?” His throat bobbed, breathing hitching, as he watched Dream unsheathe his sword, rolling it around in his wrist.

“In. The. Hole.” Tommy was already moving, limbs trembling slightly as he silently prayed to fucking anyone up there that would listen that Dream wouldn’t kill him right here, right now, as he undid his armour, letting it fall into the rudimental hole. He tossed the golden sword in too, squeezing his eyes shut when Dream pulled out a stick of dynamite and grabbed his bow from over his shoulder, lighting the thing with a flaming arrow.

The explosion breathed against Tommy’s front, whispering against his dirty shirt and tracing his hands as he used them to cover his face.

He opened his eyes one at a time to see Dream standing beside the burning grass, lightly stomping it out as he grinned. “Huh,” he shrugged before he turned to look at Tommy, tilting his head. “Anyway, how’s exile?”

“You’re a dick,” Tommy hissed, trying to ignore the man as he stepped around him, facing his tent again. Well, it was less of a tent and more of one pole in the ground.

“And what’s this supposed to be?” Dream asked, coming up beside Tommy as they both looked at the pathetic pole, the canvas discarded at the side.

“A tent,” Tommy breathed shakily, gripping the second pole in his hands desperately.

“You don’t want to stay with Ghostbur?” Dream asked quietly, glancing behind them to where Tommy knew Logstedshire stood. Tommy just shook his head. Anger swept through him, vicious and starving. Letting out a frustrated snarl, he took to swinging the pole in his hands at the one standing tall. He wondered which one would snap first as he took the first hit, the sound rocketing across the plains.

“Tommy.” He was aware of Dream saying his name, but he ignored him, letting the voice drift to the back of his mind where all the painful, hard thoughts were stored. He just kept swinging, muscles in his arms tightening with each movement.

He went to take a shot, flexing his fingers around the wood, when he realised, he couldn’t pull it through the air. Growling, he turned to see Dream holding onto the end of the pole, frowning down at him.

“Tommy!” he said, sounding slightly panicked. “Stop,” he ordered when Tommy kept tugging to no avail. “Stop, Tommy. Jesus,” Dream said, stepping forward and planting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move back.

“Do you want me to help you pitch it?” Dream asked, pulling the pole completely from Tommy’s fingers. He nodded, keeping his eyes trained onto the ground, clutching his hands to his chest. “Okay, okay,” Dream said, voice smooth and calm as he rubbed a thumb in soothing motions over Tommy’s shoulder. “We can do that. I can help you.”

They didn’t speak much as they worked. Dream would instruct Tommy to do something, handing him rope and telling him to pull it taunt, nodding and grinning when he did it correctly first time. Tommy’s hair was sticking to his forehead when they had finally finished, looking down at the white tent sitting on the ground. Waterproof and steady, Dream commented as he knocked his knuckles against the fabric.

Tommy nodded, laughing in relief as the sun began to fall behind them, casting pink light swimming across the surface of the waves. He watched, hands shoved in his pockets as Dream yawned, rolling back his shoulders before he grabbed his own shit from where he had discarded it to help Tommy, swinging his axe over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you around,” he said as he turned back to Tommy, ruffling his hair before he made to leave.

“Wait!” Tommy called out, arm reaching out for Dream. The older man paused, turning back expectantly, waiting for Tommy to speak as he fumbled over his own words. “Would you maybe like to stay for dinner, or something? I can make fish or-”

“Not tonight, Tommy,” Dream said as he shook his head, raking one hand through blond hair that looked almost brown in the night-time. Since there was no light around here bar the lanterns hanging in Logstedshire, darkness coated everything quickly. You had to memorise everything, Tommy had realised after tripping over a rock and decking it onto his face one night when he needed to take a piss. Everything was out to get you here, and you were vulnerable in the dark, exposed and open. Prey.

He didn’t expect Dream’s rejection to hit him as hard as it did. Shame bit into him as he nodded frantically, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, no, of course. I don’t know why-”

He cut himself off when Dream clapped his shoulder gently. “One day though.”

“One day?” Tommy asked, blinking up as Dream started to walk backwards into the night. The older man didn’t respond, leaving Tommy alone, the lapping waves against the shore the only other sound along with his own breathing. “One day,” he repeated to himself as he curled up in his new tent, burying himself away into his blanket. “One day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the continued kudos and comments, the support really keeps me motivated! :D


	9. Heaven Help You

George was staring to think that was a shitty fucking idea. He probably should have figured out how terribly this would go earlier. He was kind of disappointed in himself for letting it get this far, actually. He should never have gone forward with a plan that Quackity, Sapnap and Karl came up with. Together.

“George is the rightful king.” Sapnap’s voice echoed around the plains, and George couldn’t help but cringe at the mention of his own name, burying his face in his hands as he watched. The redstone switch in his lap burned, metaphorically and also literally. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted Karl to be in charge of the dynamite.

Sapnap and Karl were standing at the entrance to the castle, Eret and Puffy opposite them. The knight had her hair pulled back in a thick, braided bun, and she seemed to be scanning the area, like she didn’t trust Sap and Karl’s charade. George ducked when her eyes passed over him, heart pounding. For fuck’s sake, this was such a bad fucking plan.

“You come to my castle, to do this?” Eret questioned, crinkling his nose at the two men.

“How dare you stand where he stood!” Sapnap roared and George sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He always was one for the dramatics, his Sapnap.

“What are you _doing_?” Eret asked, sounding genuinely confused as he gestured between Sapnap and Karl. His two friends just shared a look, Sapnap licking his teeth like a cat, and Karl smiling sweetly before they turned back to Eret in unison. George couldn’t help the tug in his chest. It had been digging at him for a while now, for the past five weeks that him and Sapnap had been staying with Quackity.

It hadn’t been so bad at first. Just an itch, trailing from the scar on his throat to an inch above his heart. And it normally only came when he was alone, late at night or in the shower, head against the tiles. And it wasn’t hard to get rid of. Slip his hand down his torso and shove his knuckles into his mouth, and a temporary bandage was quickly wrapped around the ache in his chest. He refused to think of yellow eyes, or broad chests licked with freckles or a soft wheezing laugh whenever it happened. George was fucked, and he was pretty sure he was losing his mind, but he was above that.

But then he’d noticed the way Sapnap and Quackity glanced at each other. The way there was always a pot of coffee brewed when him and Sap went down in the morning, even though Quackity had already left for a meeting. The way Quackity would wear Sapnap’s sweater as he helped George cook. The way neither of them talked about the way they blushed every time they made eye contact.

And George hadn’t cared at first. It was none of his business, and it wasn’t like he was going to ask either of them about it. But then Karl had showed up. And the nagging thread in George’s chest had teared something completely open. He tried to ignore the jealous that seethed through him when Karl knocked his head into Quackity’s shoulder. Tried to not glare or glower when Quackity would absent mindlessly braid Sapnap’s hair.

He just hadn’t signed up for whatever the fuck this was. He hadn’t signed up for this. He knew he wasn’t losing Sapnap, that would be fucking stupid to think. It would be stupid.

But he’d always thought he would have a place beside his friend, his brother. But he was starting to think he’d been nudged to the side. Not on purpose, Sapnap would never do that on purpose. And neither would Karl or Quackity, they were his friends. They were fucking staging a coup for him, for fuck’s sake. But still. The feeling was there.

The feeling that he didn’t belong in Quackity’s cramped townhouse anymore. The feeling that he didn’t belong at Sapnap’s side anymore, not when he had other people to worry about. The feeling like he might stop breathing if he stayed here any longer. The feeling like he was a shitty person when Quackity worried about Tommy as Karl told him the kid would be okay. As George felt nothing. Felt like Tommy probably deserved it a bit anyway. The feeling like he had made a stupid fucking mistake leaving the castle that night.

He blinked, shaking his head as he tried to shake the itch from his body. He focused back on Karl and Sapnap. He had to focus, he reminded himself as he clenched the switch tighter in his fingers. Had to focus.

“Protesting?” Eret was shouting. The wind was carrying his words through the air, as well as billowing his cape around his legs. George’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the man over. He was wearing armour, netherite from head to toe. The crown was nowhere in sight, however. The crown George had worn for months. “Protesting _what_?”

“Your kingship,” Sapnap shrugged, and although he was a mask of nonchalance, George saw his dark eyes slide over to him. He held his thumbs up. Sapnap just gave a tight nod in acknowledgment.

“My kingship was given to me by Dream!” Eret was objecting, Puffy at his side, her fingers drifting towards the hilt of her sword.

“No, you know who should be on that throne, Eret.” And there it was, the signal. George flicked the switch, covering his ears as the sound of an explosion screamed around him. As well as a scream of pain. Blinking as he coughed, George climbed out of his hiding spot, jaw hanging open when he saw Sapnap holding a limp Karl in his arms, wrath painted over his face.

Well, fuck. That wasn’t part of their plan. Karl wasn’t meant to be standing right on top of the fucking dynamite.

“Karl!” Sapnap cried out, lightly slapping Karl’s face, trying to wake him up, before he turned to Eret and Puffy, growling. “You tried to kill Karl!” Sapnap accused, and if George wasn’t on his side, the pure animalistic threat in Sapnap’s voice would have made him piss himself.

“I did no such thing!” Eret stuttered as George sprinted across the grass. Thankfully, the area was suffocated by smoke, so it was easy to get to Sapnap and Karl without Puffy slitting his throat. “You need to go,” George told Sapnap as he took Karl from him.

His friend shook his head, looking up to the castle where he was supposed to meet Quackity before he looked back at George, gripping his shoulder. “No. This wasn’t the plan. None of us were meant to get hurt.”

“Plans change, Sapnap,” George hissed as he shoved his hand off, taking a step back as he held Karl up. Thank fuck the kid was smaller than him. “You need to fucking go. Go to Quackity. Now, Sapnap!” he growled when Sapnap still wasn’t moving. His eyes stayed trained on the unconscious Karl, biting down on his bottom lip. “I’ll fucking handle it,” George said, unsheathing his own sword before he gestured with it up to the castle. “I’m not going to tell you again, Sap.”

He watched as Sapnap sprinted away, dark hair jumping up and down with each step. Groaning slightly, he hoisted Karl up over his shoulder, licked his lips once, then started shouting. He still had to do his part of the plan, even if now he had to do it with a knocked-out Karl Jacobs.

“Hey! Wankers!” he yelled, taking cautious steps back as he tried to see through the smoke. He smiled when Puffy and Eret stalked through, netherite blades shining dangerously in the sunlight.

“What’s going on, George?” Puffy asked. “Is this about Dream?”

George’s heart leapt into his throat at the mention of his name. No one had said his name in five weeks to George. Thirty-seven days. Thirty-seven days and the only mention of Dream had been in his head at three am, as he screwed his eyes shut and desperately tried to forget about everything.

He knew Sapnap talked about it with Quackity. They had to talk about it. They just wouldn’t mention his name if George was in the room. Like he was some sort of fucked toy that Dream had smashed to pieces in a fit of anger. Like they had any idea what had happened between and Dream.

“Nope,” he said through his smile, hoping his voice didn’t come out as shaky as he thought it did.

“George, I’m sure if you just talk to us, we can figure this-”

Eret cut Puffy off with a swing of his blade, rolling it in his wrist. “No,” he said, low voice chilling. “You just always seem to be there, George. Causing problems. What happened to not getting involved, eh?”

George shrugged, still taking steps away from the duo, making sure Karl was safe in his arms. “I guess I changed my mind.”

“I’m done talking with this idiot,” Eret sighed, long legs stalking forward. Puffy looked unsure, but she followed anyway. George pushed his tongue into his cheek. Well, maybe he hadn’t thought this fully through.

“And here I thought you were the diplomat,” George laughed as he turned his back on them, taking off into a sprint. “But you’re right Eret, I think I’m done talking too.” And with that, he kicked off of the ground, Karl jostling in his arms.

His shoes were scuffed, soles worn out, as he slid across grass slick with morning dew. Behind him, Eret and Puffy were calling his name, but George wasn’t exactly going to stick around to hear what they said. Like Eret had said, the time for talking was over. Had been for a while now.

Karl jostled up and down in his arms, eyes flickering open and face contorting with panic. “What the fuck?” he breathed heavily, gripping onto George’s arms as he craned his neck over George’s shoulder, face paling. “What happened? Where’s Sapnap?”

“Later,” George hissed, picking up the pace as Eret and Puffy gained pace on them. Fuck. This was such a shitty plan. He held his breath as the church came over the horizon. Fuck, they were so going to get caught. And then him and Karl would both be impaled by fucking netherite swords that Puffy and Eret probably only had because of Dream. God, the fucking irony of it all.

“George,” Karl warned, tightening his hold on George’s shoulders as George clenched his jaw, ignoring the way his feet burned, the way his muscles were pulled taunt. “They’re getting close.”

“I know,” he grunted out as he came up to the top of the wooden stairs that led right to the church. “How injured do you think you are?” he asked with an anxious grin, Karl frowning at him. He had a plan. A shitty plan, but when you start of the day with a plan primarily led by Quackity and Sapnap, you can’t really go anywhere but up.

“I think I’m fine, just dizzy.”

George hummed in response, nodding his head as he sighed, “Great. Then this shouldn’t hurt more than normal.” And before Karl could get out the question on his tongue, George was leaping up into the air, electing to throw him and Karl from the top of the stairs, right to the bottom, instead of taking the time to walk down them.

He held his breath as he hit the ground rolling, grinning as he watched Karl do the same thing, only wincing lightly. Letting out a loose laugh, a laugh of pure adrenaline, something he hadn’t felt in years, he punched the air. “You crazy motherfucker!” Karl giggled as he grabbed onto George’s wrist, tugging it down from the skies and along with him as they sprinted to the church.

“You shoved me off a goddamn cliff,” Karl snorted as they skid inside, slamming the door behind them. George was panting heavily, leaning against the door, head tipped back as sweat dripped down the side of his head. He rolled his eyes, elbowing Karl when the other man stood beside him, hands on his knees.

It only took a couple of minutes before the sound of a window smashing sounded Sap and Quackity’s entrance. The latter hollered with victory as he leapt through the windowpane, waving about Eret’s crown in his fingers. “It went exactly to plan!” Quackity was yelling as he danced around, the glass cracking under his shoes. The former ran straight over to George and Karl, cupping Karl’s face in his hands as he quickly scanned him over.

“You’re fucking bleeding,” he breathed, and George couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Sapnap sound this scared. Karl winced when Sapnap prodded around the cut on his hairline, shouldering the younger man away. George hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s fine, Sap. Leave it.” But Sapnap’s eyes turned to George, narrowing as he rolled his jaw.

“He wasn’t bleeding when you took him,” Sapnap said, but his voice was low, thick. Like he was accusing George of something. “You said you would handle it.”

“I _did_ handle it,” George answered, voice equally calm as Sapnap’s, even if their locked eyes were ablaze. Before either of them could say anything, Quackity was standing between them both, shoving the crown inside the satchel at his side.

“They’re here,” he whistled, clicking his tongue.

“We’re safe here?” Karl breathed as the four of them turned to look outside, and George couldn’t tell if he was stating or asking. But he didn’t especially care what any of his friends had to say as his eyes dropped onto the white mask staring up at him. The ink had run in the past five weeks since he’d seen Dream, long trails of black pooling at the bottom of the mask.

His throat bobbed. Mouth dry.

“Let me do the talking,” Quackity hissed before he rolled his shoulders back and tugged the door open. He plastered a wide grin on his face, rows of white teeth gleaming. For a short kid, Quackity could be pretty fucking intimidating when he wanted to be. Sucked for him that he was standing opposite a God, blond curls and scars galore a warning. A warning Quackity refused to heed as he walked up to Dream, pausing a foot in front of him.

“Dream, hello.”

The other man tilted his head down at Quackity, sighing before his head quirked up. And even though George couldn’t see those familiar eyes, he felt them on his. He gulped, refusing to drop eye contact as he stayed leaning in the doorway, tightening his fingers around the wooden frame.

“Hello,” Dream said as his attention flickered back onto Quackity. “The fuck is going on?”

“Peaceful protesting,” Quackity answered instantly, shrugging as he continued to play the role of the innocent.

Dream hesitated before replying, and George watched as the muscle in Dream’s neck twitched. Ah, so he wasn’t up for games today. Wasn’t up for the usual banter he normally seemed to thrive on, thirst upon “I don’t think that raiding a castle is-”

“We did not raid the castle,” Quackity shook his head, that diplomatic smile still on his face, as if it had been sewn into his lips, tugging at the corners. “We were protesting peacefully, and then for whatever reason,” he gave a huff of humourless amusement, slinging his arm around Dream’s shoulders as he slowly turned him to face the group that was gathered behind them.

Punz was at the front, axe in hands and blue eyes narrowed. A smile was on his face too, hungry. George wondered how long it had been since Dream had let his dog off the leash for a hunt. Punz threaded his bottom lip through his teeth, watching carefully as Quackity gestured to him, and then Puffy and Eret on either side of him.

“Eret decided to attack Karl and Sapnap,” he finished, letting his arm fall from Dream’s shoulders to clap them together.

“You guys were raiding the castle!” Dream objected, growling down at Quackity, who seemed completely unfazed as he shrugged again, picking at his nails. It was obviously a tense conversation, but George could practically hear the irritation crackling around Dream as he watched Quackity saunter up and down.

“That was after,” Quackity mused, turning to look at Karl. He gestured towards the blood that was dripping down his temples, onto his shirt. George frowned when Dream’s head glanced down towards him, and when he followed his attention, his breathing hitched when he saw blood caked into his knuckles. It must’ve happened when Karl grabbed onto his hand, must have wiped blood across his skin

“That was in retaliation.” He moved his hands behind his back as Quackity continued speaking. It was useless, Dream had already made the connection. Had already seen the flaws in their plan.

“Listen, Quackity-”

“And why are you even getting involved?” Quackity demanded, voice dropping slightly as he shook his head up at Dream. “This should between us and Eret!”

“You stole the crown!” Dream barked out. George didn’t let his eyes wander to the satchel at Quackity’s side, instead, tilted his head to the sky, eyes concentrated on the clouds moving through the blue canvas.

“Dream, listen we were doing peaceful protests and then Eret did whatever Eret did, you understand, right? We’re willing to give it back, but we’re not willing to-”

“Listen to me-” Dream said, and George didn’t miss the edge to his voice, the animalistic underpinning, the feral wrath that was threatening to claw through.

“Karl is-” The two men were yelling over each other as they moved in a circle, Quackity still grinning, brows quirked up, Dream’s face hidden, but his emotions clear through the twitching of his fingers, edging closer to the hilt of his blade.

“Who do you think you are to have negotiation power?” Dream barked out in disbelief, fingers flexing into a fist. “We could kill all of you easily!” To add insult to injury, he pulled out his sword from where it sat, rolling it in his wrist.

“You can’t touch us here,” Karl cut in, glancing around nervously. George rolled his eyes as he slumped down further, wishing he could just cave in on himself at this point.

“You’re going to have to leave at some point,” Dream pointed out, aiming the point lazily towards Karl. Sapnap moved to stand in front of him, silent as he folded his arms into his chest. Dream grinned at that, giving a bark of pitiful laughter before he shook his head.

“You touch any of us and you don’t get the crown back,” Quackity told him, pulling Dream’s attention away from Sapnap.

“That’s fine Quackity, that’s fine, guess what?” He took a step forward, and George stood up, back straight as he watched the venom practically drip out of Dream’s words, into Quackity’s veins.

“You’ll be dead. Everyone will be dead,” he snarled, slashing his sword through the air. Past George, Sapnap and Karl. “We’ll destroy all your shit,” he yelled, the two knights and the king behind him nodding in solemn agreement. Punz let out a whistle as Sapnap glared at him, shaking his finger in warning, axe mocking them all in the light.

“If you guys want to fuck about and grief a kingdom, it’s your fault if you die,” Dream shrugged, stepping away from Quackity.

“Why aren’t you punishing Eret for this?” The shorter man demanded, eyes so dark they looked almost black in the lighting, jutting his chin out.

“Punish him for what?” Dream laughed, the hood of his cloak falling with the wind. “For hurting Karl?” he asked, ludicrous.

“Yes, for hurting Karl!” Quackity argued. “For disrupting a peaceful protest! Or is this the new precedent you’re setting? The whole country run by one asshole who doesn’t let us voice our opinions, what’s going on?” It was then that George remembered why Quackity had offered to defend Tommy in court. The guy knew how to use his mouth to his advantage, he had to give it to him.

He didn’t think there was anyone else but Wilbur who used to be able to irritate Dream this much in arguments. Who could needle him so perfectly, finding the perfect marks to shoot for.

“Quackity, what is wrong with you?” Dream sighed, his spare hand shooting up to grab onto his hair. “You’re a fucking terrorist!”

“You’re out of your mind,” Quackity laughed, brushing the insult, the declaration, off easily.

“Quackity, what are you a citizen of?” Dream demanded. Quackity hesitated, before saying L’Manberg, nostrils flaring as they all watched Dream laugh at him, the sound was all wrong, too high and rehearsed.

“Exactly! So why are you peacefully protesting a member of _my_ lands! Not only a member, but the fucking king!”

“It is an injustice, it is an injustice,” Quackity bit back.

“You are a terrorist,” Dream hissed.

“George is the true king!” Karl was shouting, frustration leaking from his voice as he sidestepped around Sapnap, but Dream wasn’t even looking at him. His attention was on George, completely and utterly. George just shrugged; fingers hooked around his belt loops. Dream’s Adam’s apple bobbed, shaking his head once, the movement so minute that no one else would recognise it. But George had studied that body, had traced every muscle, licked every inch of skin, breathed in every freckle.

He let himself smile, hand coming up to brush against his own jaw, hiding his lips as he dropped Dream’s masked gaze. 

“And unlike some of us standing here, we four stick by our friends, okay?”

“Karl,” Dream choked out, sounding barely there as his head snapped towards the man, sword raising. George ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched on. “I think you’re forgetting; I am the only one who gives the Holy Land any power.”

“Tyrant!” Karl alleged, throwing a fist in Dream’s direction. “You’re a tyrant.”

“Great, he’s breaking the rules again,” Quackity laughed, the sound hollow as Dream ignored him, brushing past the smaller man to grip Karl by the collar. Sap protested wildly, but Dream ignored him, and once Punz’s axe found its way nestled under Sapnap’s jaw, he hesitated.

“You’re always under a tyrant, open your goddamn eyes!” Dream hissed, tightening his hold on Karl, lifting the man off of his feet. Karl choked out slightly, hands grasping at Dream’s as he continued speaking. “You thought it was me for some reason, but it’s just Quackity! He’s making you grief shit, making you do what he wants, so he can grab any scrap of power he can get his filthy fucking hands on.”

“So, you’re going to kill us?” Quackity asked, seemingly unfazed by Karl in Dream’s hands, Sapnap still under Punz’s hold. George couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t give a shit about that right now, when Dream, and in turn, a chance at power was in front of him. Or if he was trying to hide how much Karl and Sapnap meant to him. He wondered which excuse Quackity was telling himself in that sharp brain of his as Dream took a step towards him.

“I could kill you anywhere,” Dream said honestly, head moving from the breathless Karl to Quackity, who was rolling back on his heels as he watched Dream carefully. “Everywhere the light fucking touches is mine. I can kill you wherever I want, asshole.”

“L’Manberg?” Quackity breathed, eyes glancing off towards the city on the lake.

“L’Manberg only has power because I let it. I’m fine with Tubbo because he is ruling with grace and democracy. You, however, are fucking terrorists.” His hold on Karl tightened, the other man crying out desperately, silent tears clinging to his jaw as he dug his nails into Dream’s hand, kicking and thrashing. Dream didn’t even flinch.

Quackity’s composure was slipping faster. Dream was stealing his pieces from the board, and Quackity was stuck. With a fallen King, a trapped Knight, and a pawn ready to be stolen.

“What’s not graceful about a peaceful protest?” he asked, voice breaking off at the end.

“Stealing the crown is not something you can ever do without being a terrorist.” Dream moved his focus from Quackity back to Karl. George hadn’t even noticed the dagger in Dream’s other hand before it was embedded in Karl’s bicep, and then being pulled out with a sickening wet sound. “By the literal definition.”

Karl fell to the ground on the same beat as Dream’s last word. He bit down onto his own knuckle, eyes rolling back on his head as a pool of sticky, bright blood pooled onto the planks he was lying on, dripping into the cracks.

George watched, mouth still covered by his hand, as Sapnap dropped down, swiping Punz’s legs and kicking his axe out of his hand. It went skidding across the path, embedding itself into the wood. Sapnap was breathing heavily as he snatched the crossbow from his back, eyes narrowing as he aimed it right at Dream’s chest.

“Don’t fucking do it, Sapnap,” Quackity snarled, abandoning the spot he’d claimed as his own in the middle of the path to stand in front of Sapnap. “You’ll fuck it up for all of us."

Sapnap didn’t move, jaw trembling as his finger twitched. Dream cocked his head, a small grin on his lips. Sapnap’s eyes hardened over.

“Sapnap, don’t do it. I’m serious, we’ve got to talk this through, okay?” Quackity was speaking quickly now, his whole mask fallen, abandoned, as he gripped onto Sapnap’s face, shaking his head with desperation. “At the end of the day, Sapnap, this is politics. If you pull that, this is actual terrorism, put it away!”

Sapnap didn’t move. Dream didn’t move. Quackity snarled in irritation, roughly shoving Sapnap backwards, hand shooting out to grab onto the crossbow. But Sapnap was faster, better, stronger, and caught onto Quackity’s wrist before he could do anything.

Sapnap didn’t move until a tentative voice spoke. “Pull it and you’re as bad as him,” Karl said shakily from where he lay, breathing heavily, eyes slightly clouded over. George wondered how long it would be until he passed out from blood loss.

The bow was lowered gingerly. Punz jumped back to his feet, tearing out his axe, wood spraying everywhere. Sapnap snarled when the blond ripped the crossbow from his hands, smacking him over the top of the head.

“Alright Dream,” Quackity said, a shaky attempt to regain the control of the floor. “Listen, what is it you want from us?”

“Quackity,” Dream clicked his tongue. “All I hear is, _hey the castle’s been sieged, and the crown has been taken.”_

“It hasn’t been sieged!” he objected, spluttering in disbelief. George hummed through his knuckle. His act was dropping, slipping. “It’s totally fine.”

“Okay, you did as much as you could before you were caught,” Dream sighed, shaking his head like he had caught a child misbehaving. As if one of them wasn’t on the floor, lying in a pool of their own blood. “Look, you’re trying to paint me as this tyrant when I’m just trying to keep the peace.” George bit down a snort.

“If Eret hurts Karl, then yes that’s valid, but come and talk to me about it.” Oh, the hypocrisy was beautiful. Poetic in a way. He wondered if Dream still wrote. If this was one endless epic story to him, all the plotlines happening under his pen, his control. “Don’t raid my castle and my crown.”

“ _Your_ castle? _Your_ crown?” Quackity repeated, brows raised in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“You’re an absolute tyrant,” Quackity spat.

“No.”

“You’re removing the rules for your own agenda.”

“It’s not my agenda. My agenda has always been, since the beginning, for my country to thrive. So, if you’re saying my agenda is to be a tyrant, you are wrong. Quackity, you tried to take over the castle-”

“It’s as easy as this Dream,” Quackity said, letting loose a soft exhale. “Wer’e willing to give back the crown-”

“I don’t give a shit about the crown,” Dream cut him off. “I care about the fact you thought you could take it without any repercussions from me,” he breathed, lowering his head so he was eye-level with Quackity. “You can keep the crown. It’s a ring of gold.”

Quackity hesitated, eyes dropping to Karl, to Sapnap, and then to George. “So, what are you after?” he asked, voice quiet as his eyes flicked back up to the mask.

“You stopping,” Dream hissed, jabbing his index finger into Quackity’s chest. “And if you don’t, I will kill you. I will slaughter them,” he screamed, dripping in violence, and a promise, as he gestured to Karl, Sapnap, and finally George, all in turn.

“I will pillage your home and burn it to the ground.”

*

George had decided what he was going to do as soon as he left the Holy Lands, helping Karl walk back to Quackity’s home. He cleaned the deep gash in his arm, neatly sewing it back together as Sapnap and Quackity screamed at each other downstairs. He wondered how long it would be before Phil came knocking the door and telling them to pack it in.

He waited for Karl to fall asleep, brushing the damp locks from his hair before he crept from the room. Sneaking down the stairs, he held his breath every time the wood sunk under his weight. He found Quackity passed out on the couch, and Sapnap was nowhere to be seen. Hesitating in the kitchen, eyes fliting towards the door, he grabbed a quill and tore out a page from one of the cookbooks none of them ever used.

_I did what I had to do. You made the right decision for you. Let me make this decision for me._

He addressed it to Sapnap, scrawling his brother’s name on the front after he folded the note. Then after he tossed the quill across the kitchen counter, he tugged the front door open, welcomed by the cold, endless night. And he left. The three of them would be fine together. They had each other, worked together, the three of them slotting into each others' lives. But George was just there. Like a bruise, spreading and angry and painful. He didn't fit with them. But that was fine too, because he knew where he would fit.

It wasn’t hard to track down Dream. He didn’t really know why the man had a reputation for being mysterious, for being shadow incarnate. He was only ever in a couple of places if he wasn’t fighting in wars, the battleground his home.

George rolled back his shoulders and pushed open the door to their old house. It creaked lowly, like it always had, the wooden planks groaning under his weight as the door clicked shut behind him. The hall held memories, painful to look back at, no matter how domestic. He could hear Sap’s snoring as he passed the doorway to the living room, heard Dream sighing as he ran his fingers over the door to the office. Heard his own mutters of irritation as he stood inside the kitchen, remembering how annoying it had been to cook in this house, Sapnap or Dream always there to piss him off.

And as he stood in the threshold, leaning against the door, swinging one ankle in front of the other, he watched Dream look up at him. Pale eyes narrowed, yellow looking heavier in the darkness. They looked darker than he ever remembered them being.

He was sitting at their dining table, in his seat to the left. A plate of bread and a bowl of soup sat in front of him, seemingly untouched. But there was a bottle of whiskey beside him, top unscrewed, golden liquid dripping slowly down the side.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. George stayed in the doorway, unable to cross over just yet, and Dream stayed sitting, head still in his right hand. He glanced across the room, eyes scanning over the clean kitchen counters, the empty shelves, the chipped windows. He looked over to where there were bloodstains engraved into the floor, where Dream’s blood and sick had seemed to become one with the wood.

His self from two years ago seemed to materialise in front of him as he gripped his own hands. He was sitting on the floor, Dream curled up in his arms, head on his lap as he coughed and shuddered. As George carded his fingers through damp blond hair, as Dream gripped onto him as tightly as he could.

He wondered what that George would think about why he had come here. What his past self would say to him. He wondered what that Dream would think about the current situation. How the Dream who had ended that first war, how he would look at the current Dream.

“What are you doing here?” Dream’s voice, husky and low, broke him out of his reverie. He blinked, and their past selves vanished, leaving him all alone with reality. George sighed as he tilted his head to face Dream, arching a brow as he licked his bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit, by the way,” he said, biting down a smile when Dream blinked in shock. He always looked cute when he didn’t understand what was happening. When someone caught him off guard. And it happened so rarely, George learned to drink it in.

“What?” Dream choked out.

“With that whole peace bullshit,” George mused as he pushed himself off of the wall, biting down on his bottom lip as he took small steps over towards the table. “That’s not what you really want.”

Dream hummed thoughtfully, a widening smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes stayed cautious, not leaving George’s face once as he kept walking, tapping his fingers along the rim of the table. “And what is it you think I want?” he asked, scarred jaw flexing and unflexing in an erratic rhythm. 

“I don’t know,” George shrugged, answering honestly. Dream looked at him, all of the humour, flirtation, and dishonesty gone. Ripped raw from his face by George’s words, by his voice. “And I don’t really care anymore. I used to. It used to hurt that I wanted you more than you wanted me.” Dream’s nostrils flared when George finally reached him, leaning down so their noses were almost touching. He would only have to move a hair’s length and their lips would brush against each other. Dream’s breath was hot against his neck.

“But I don’t think I care anymore,” George breathed, the honest admission crackling through the air as they were silent for a moment. Dream’s eyes dropped down, as if he was unsure, for the first time. As if he didn’t know what to do with this information.

“Really?” he whispered, still refusing to meet George’s eyes. But George was over the whole shy shit. He was over the heartbreak and the mistrust and the way he had kept pushing Dream away. Because he had thought he had fixed morals, he had thought that he was a better person than his lover because he didn’t revel in the violence like the blond. But didn’t he? He had stood beside Dream for two wars now. Had stood beside him for almost ten years.

He didn’t give a fuck about L’Manberg. He didn’t give a fuck about the laws everyone here had decided to put in place, didn’t care about Tommy and his discs. Didn’t care about Technoblade or Wilbur. He didn’t care about any of it.

And he was starting to think that apathy was worse than the violence, the manipulation.

He didn’t need morals when he had Dream.

“Yes,” he whispered against the other’s neck as he sat down on his lap, hands pressed against his jaw, thumb wiping under his eye, right where that fucking beautiful scar was. “As long as I have you in some capacity.”

Dream gulped, nodding enthusiastically. But his touch was tentative. He moved his arms slowly, letting them settle around George’s waist lightly, like his touch might break him. “You can have me. In some capacity."

George laughed against Dream’s face, lips pressing softly against his cheekbones. “Really?” he snorted, pulling back to meet eyes flecked with raw power, with unforgiving strength. “You’d still take a terrorist?” he mused, clicking his tongue. Dream gave a huff of amusement as he rolled his eyes, but he pulled George closer, hands spread out across his back.

“You’d take a tyrant?” he asked, brow quirking upwards.

George hummed slowly, dropping his lips back to Dream’s neck, grinning viciously when the man beneath him stiffened. “I think it’s hot when you’re threatening arson,” he murmured against skin, teeth scraping and tongue darting out.

“George,” Dream whispered when he pulled away again, splaying his fingers over Dream’s face. His face suddenly flushed with red, throat bobbing as his pale eyes darted away, even as his fingers mindlessly played with the hem of George’s sweater.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dream whispered, and his voice was heavy with shame.

“Like what?”

“Like you could love me again,” Dream replied easily, eyes snapping to meet George’s. A soft smile danced along the older man’s mouth, and he sighed as he threaded his fingers through blond hair, dropping his forehead against Dream’s.

“I do,” he whispered. It surprised him, how easily he could say it now. “On purpose. Ten times over.”

“But I've done some terr-"

“I don’t care,” George cut him off quickly, pressing a finger against Dream’s lips. They both knew what he meant. He had played with fire before, had tried to contain it, control the flames for the past two years. Maybe he should try and see what happened if he let the fire devour everything it wanted to. Wanted to see how long it took before he got burned. "I don't give a fuck about what you've done."

“We should talk,” Dream said around George’s finger, eyes wide and open.

“Probably,” George agreed before he leant back down again, capturing Dream’s breath with his lips. “But later.”

“Later,” Dream murmured into the kiss, hands tugging George’s shirt off.

They would talk later. George wouldn’t change his mind anyway. He couldn’t change his mind. He had nothing left now. There was only Dream.

And what was love anyway? George wondered as Dream wrapped his arms around his legs, standing up from his seat, carrying George’s weight easily. He knew hunger, fear and heat. And he didn’t think those things were that different to love. At least not the love he felt now. When he was younger, the love he’d had for Dream had felt untouchable. Had felt ethereal, brighter than light itself somehow. He’d though his love had made him better.

The love now was like biting down into flesh, hot blood spilling down his throat. But it was what he needed. Was what Dream needed.

And it was what he wanted.

If being a good person meant he couldn’t have Dream, George was ready to be welcomed into Hell with opened arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murder boyfriends murder boyfriends murder boyfriends
> 
> sad angsty George is very good and fun but its time for cold, antagonist George to thrive. especially since we still have the dt angst with Sapnap :D


	10. Teen Idle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide

“I’m allowed to go to the nether, right?” Tommy couldn’t look up as he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Couldn’t risk seeming too cocky, couldn’t risk betraying how much he really needed this. Couldn’t risk Dream seeing right through him, couldn’t risk Dream killing him right here, where no one would ever find his body.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.” His head tilted up at that, a breathy laugh escaping his lips as Dream shrugged at him. He was sitting on the ground beside Ghostbur, legs in a basket as they cooked oats over the campfire. Tommy didn’t know how long the older man had been here for, he’d heard his soft laugh as soon as he’d woken up, able to hear Dream and Wilbur’s conversation about guitars from his own tent. He’d spent half an hour pacing on the beach as his toes dug into the sand, trying to build the courage to ask Dream.

He needed this. It was an easy way to L’Manberg. Maybe one day, when Dream wasn’t here, he could go through. Just for a moment. Just to see. Just to speak to Tubbo. Just for a second. He just needed to see his home again. With his own eyes.

“As long as you don’t go into the overworld through the other one,” Dream reminded him, before gesturing for him to come sit down with him and Ghostbur. He walked tentatively, the ground freezing against his bare feet. He didn’t wear his shoes when he didn’t need to now. The soles were already wearing too thin, and he couldn’t risk them breaking when he really needed them.

He sat with Dream and Ghostbur, listening to their conversation, but not really joining in as he waited for his meal, rapping his knuckles against his knees. His throat was hurting recently, words taking more effort to get out than he ever remembered them being. He blinked up when Dream nudged him, flinching away, when he realised that Dream was just offering him a bowl of oats. Muttering a thanks under his breath, he took it cautiously from the other man’s hands. If Dream had noticed him flinching, he didn’t mention it as Tommy shovelled the meal down his mouth.

As soon as he’d finished, he set the bowl down, thanking Dream one last time before he raced off back towards his tent. As he searched for his boots, his eyes fell on a splash of orange. Frowning, he stuck his head outside, body stilling when he saw a peppering of tulips swaying beside his tent, the colour bright against the otherwise barren, dying landscape.

He shook his head, and he tried to ignore the flowers, ignored the way the sight of them needled at his chest. Tugging his shoes on, he snatched his pick from where it lay on the ground and headed off towards the cave system nearby.

Blood was dripping into the creases in his palms by the time the sun was setting, and his back cracked every time he moved, but he had all the obsidian he needed to finish the abandoned portal near the village.

Dream watched from the treeline as Tommy held the flint and steel in his palms. He nodded softly at Tommy, blond hair looking almost white in the dark. Ghostbur was hovering nervously beside him, glancing between Dream, leaning against a tree, and Tommy, looking up at his portal with parted lips.

“Home,” he breathed, fingers running over the stick of metal. Blood swiped over it, wet and slick against his scarred fingers. His breathing hitched when he created a spark, purple smoke bursting out from the dark stone. Once he wiped his eyes, coughing out the damp purple clouds that he’d breathed in, he smiled up at the shimmering portal, sparkling and shining.

“But Tommy,” Ghostbur started, chewing on his bottom lip as Tommy took a step forward. “It might get linked-” He tried to grip onto Tommy’s arm, pale and skinnier than it had ever been, but the teenager was already walking through. The purple covered his body, and it felt like seaweed as it gripped at him, and he felt that familiar tug, pulling him from his dimension.

When he blinked his eyes open, and stepped out of the portal, stumbling slightly, he was met with red. He didn’t wait, instantly pulling the pick from his back, and used it to scale the walls of soft, crumbling crimson stone. Ghostbur hovered beside him, gasping every time the pick slipped slightly.

He let out a breathy laugh when he managed to haul himself up onto the cliff, the community portal visible in the distance. At some point, Dream must have followed him, because when he went to take a step forward, his pickaxe falling from his fingers, a strong hand gripped onto his shoulder. He stilled at the contact and flinched in pain when the fingers dug into his skin. Tommy could feel the bruises painting themselves onto his skin as he silently begged Dream to let go, harsh purples and blues working their way across his body.

“You’re not going through there, Tommy,” he said after he bent down slightly, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. He nodded desperately, ignoring the way the blistering heat of the Nether was cutting through him. “But Wilbur can be your messenger. Right?”

“Sure, yes.” He heard Ghostbur saying, but Dream had already let go of him, so Tommy was sprinting across the cliffs, skidding past the steep drops and leaping over the gaps, the spitting lava begging for him down below. A newfound sense of energy had suddenly seized him, and he wouldn’t let it go to waste as he ran through the wastelands, feet hurting, burning, with every step.

But lucky for him, he was still being chased by a ghost, and a man who Tommy wasn’t convinced was wholly human. He could hear Dream’s boots against the surface below them, and while he wasn’t running like Tommy, he was keeping up, only a step behind him. Like he always seemed to be.

“Tommy, you’re going too far,” Ghostbur said, before he leaned in closer, whispering harshly, just for Tommy to hear, “You’ll die.” And he sounded almost like Wilbur for once, voice commanding and stern, not disgustingly saccharine.

“I just want to see,” Tommy protested, but it came out more of a plea as they reached the community portal. He blinked down at the cobblestone before he leapt up onto it, experimentally tapping his feet.

From the corner of his eye, as he circled the portal, he saw Dream come up beside Ghostbur, hands in his back pockets as he shrugged. “He can see, that’s fine.”

“Can I go in?” He dared ask, standing in front of the purple, fingers trembling as they traced every crack in the portal, nails scratching against the stone. He kept his eyes trained on the purple swirls, ignoring the way he could feel Dream’s baring into the back of his neck.

“No,” Dream answered easily, like he’d been expecting Tommy to ask. “Wilbur can go in and relay any information you want to share.”

He bit his bottom lip in a poor attempt to hide the ache in his chest as he turned to look at Dream. “I want to go in and see my friends,” he breathed shakily, curling his fingers around the edge of the portal.

“If you go in, I will kill you.”

Tommy laughed, shaking his head, fluffy and unkempt blond waves brushing against the bridge of his nose. He snarled in annoyance, trying to brush his hair out of his face. Tugging it behind his ears, he looked up at Dream, taking a step towards the man.

“Let’s be honest.” It was hard to keep up the arrogant act, when everything inside of him felt like it was breaking. Like someone had hidden a rose in his meals, and the thorns were slowly making their way through his body, leaving his throat scratched and torn apart, leaving his lungs bleeding and punctured. But Tommy had always been good at keeping things hidden. Dream wasn’t the only one who wore a mask. “If I go through, you’re not going to kill me.”

Dream sighed, and Tommy recoiled when he took a step towards him. But Dream didn’t stop, and Tommy shuddered when he placed a hand on his cheek, brushing away tears Tommy hadn’t even realised were falling. Before he could lean into the warmth, the desperate need for a stable touch from anyone, Dream flicked him, hard.

Grimacing, he tried to pull away, but Dream’s hand stayed on his face, and he hushed him, rubbing soothing circles over the enflamed skin. “I will genuinely kill you,” he said, and the raw honest, the open threat of that, hung in the air between them.

“I’ll go in,” Wilbur said, breaking the still, heavy air. Tommy’s eyes dropped down as Dream nodded, hand falling to the side, flexing into a fist. “I’ll come with you.” Tommy fell back against the cobblestone wall that surrounded the portal, head dropping against the stone, eyes trained on the red sky, clouded with ash above him. He refused to acknowledge the stinginess behind his eyes, and the stinginess enflaming across his face, Dream’s reminding touch a warning.

“Stay here.” He tilted his head so Dream could see him nod, watching as him and Ghostbur passed through, the purple swallowing them both up. And then he was alone, like he seemed to always be now.

He pushed himself off of the wall, rolling his shoulders back as he wandered around the portal. He dropped down from the dais of grey stone, a sharp contrast to the rest of his surroundings. Rubbing at his chest, he winced slightly. His heart always felt too strong. He never remembered being able to feel his heart beating so prominently before, never felt the blood pumping around his veins so intricately. It hurt. To feel everything so strongly, so sharply. He wondered what it would be like to feel nothing at all.

He walked along the side of the cliff, watching as the red rock that came dislodged from his steps fell, for what seemed like eternity, before they hit the lava. It ate them up, hot bubbles bursting with hisses as the rocks disappeared. He’d never been burned before. Nothing more than spilling hot soup on his hand.

Tubbo had refused to speak about the explosion Techno had fired at him. Didn’t like talking about the scars that decorated his face, twisting and harsh across his soft features.

Scowling, he kicked his boot against the cobble wall. He stumbled backwards, but he was too caught up in the burning thoughts in his mind to realise. His hand instinctively shot out, holding himself steady.

He rubbed his other hand across his forehead. He sighed, but the sigh turned into a broken sob as he wrapped his arms around himself, shoulders trembling. Fuck, he was so pathetic. If only Tubbo could see him now. See that he had made the right decision. See that Tommy wasn’t stable, wasn’t reliable. Wasn’t a good friend. Was selfish and reckless and a stupid fucking idiot who had ruined everyone’s lives. Had killed Wilbur. Had tortured everyone with his mere being.

Screwing his eyes shut as he tried to will the tears away, he took a mindless step forward. He only paused when he went to take another one, but all his foot found was air. Blinking his eyes open one at a time, the tears subsided as Tommy’s breath fell away. He was going to die alone. He supposed it was up to him. If it was in exile, in a shitty tent from hypothermia, or starvation. Or if it was right here. Right now. If he just took a step forward.

He glanced over the edge, the orange sea below him screaming, begging him to do it. To hurry up and get on with it. A strand of blond brushed against his lashes, and Tommy let out a strangled scream, frustrated and tired.

_“How does it look?” “Shorter than it did an hour ago.”_

No one was left. Not Technoblade, the man he had thought would save him, would save them all. Techno, who had been his last hope. The man he knew he pissed off, knew he irritated with his chatter and loudness. The man who he pissed off, but who was still his friend despite it. The man who had cut his hair, fingers stained in blood, gentle and careful. The man he had started looking to as a brother.

Not Tubbo, his brother, his best friend. Not Wilbur, or Phil, or Quackity. Not any of them. He was completely and utterly, painfully alone. Apart from Dream. Who seemed to care about Tommy more than any of his family did. It had been close to two months now. And none of them had come to see him.

He let out a weak laugh as he thought about that. Thought about how Dream had helped him build his tent, helped cook and helped him hunt sometimes. About how every time he showed up, he demanded Tommy blow up his own things.

Glancing upwards, too afraid to watch as it happened, Tommy held his foot out.

He had never wanted to die before. Had never even really thought about it. Not when he’d been homeless with Tubbo, two kids wandering across the globe, trying to find a shelter each night so they wouldn’t freeze to death. Not when he’d been in battles, swords clashing against each other, mouth full of metal. He didn’t even really think about it now, as he dropped his hand from his arm. He just wanted it all to be over now.

He didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to go back to that tent, where it was cold and empty. He didn’t want this anymore. God, he’d been so fucking stupid. He’d wasted his whole life fighting, and for what? Where had it gotten him? Nothing. Fucking nothing.

All it had brought was grief and pain and maybe Tommy didn’t want any of that anymore. And was that so fucking bad? To want freedom? And if he couldn’t have it in this life, maybe he would find it in the next. Maybe he could do better next time, be better.

He took a breath in, ready for it to be his last. He felt everything in him go still, understanding that he had to do this. He had to, right? What else was there to do, let Dream kill him? Let the rain kill him? He made to move his other foot, sole of his boot scratching at the bottom of the red earth beneath him.

And something pulled him back. Dream gripped at his shoulder, practically flinging Tommy away from the ledge. He stumbled, muscles failing him completely as his back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Coughing and spluttering, he watched as Dream glanced over the ledge, fingers flexing into fists before he turned back to Tommy, doubled over and face contorted in silent pain. Unsure of where the pain was even coming from.

Dream had taken everything from him. And now, he had taken this from him too. He couldn't even decide when to die. When to let everything go.

“It’s not your time to die,” Dream said, voice surprisingly clear through the air, cutting through the soft, hypnotic rhythm of the lava below, of the wailing of a ghast, off somewhere in the distance, forever trapped in this barren realm, doomed to float aimlessly through the ash forever. 

“It’s never my time to die,” Tommy replied, eyes flicking down to his hand. Then to his leg, and up his arms. He traced his neck, the thin scars decorating his whole body. His scars had been with him longer than any person ever had.

A week later, Tommy was waiting for Dream, standing against the fence of Logstedshire, tracing the scars that ran along his shoulder. He swore under his breath when Ghostbur materialised in front of him, jumping off of the fence in fright, eyes blown wide.

“Fucking hell, man,” he sighed, shaking his head as Ghostbur tilted his head down at him, smiling calmly. “Warn a guy next time, alright?”

Ghostbur nodded, drifting so he was beside Tommy, as the two of them looked out to the sea. “I wanted to give you something,” Ghostbur said, nudging Tommy’s arm with his elbow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you a gift,” he beamed, and Tommy didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just nodded his head in acknowledgment, waiting for Dream to appear on the horizon. He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt, shoving it around as Ghostbur continued speaking.

“You were about to leave, and I need to give you your gift. You’ll like this gift; I think you’re going to appreciate this. Remember last week when we were hanging out with Dream, and he was really nice and helped us a lot?”

Tommy had no idea what Ghostbur was talking about. Dream had been hanging around here pretty much every day for weeks now, and Ghostbur wasn’t super specific. But Tommy was tired, and speaking was talking more and more effort with every word, so he just nodded, gesturing for Ghostbur to continue.

“Well, something that really stuck with me was Dream saying I could be your messenger, remember? Messenger to L’Manberg.” Tommy’s blood ran cold as he silently nodded along. That day in the Nether. He blinked down at his feet, and suddenly the soil beneath him crumbled away, revealing lava, encompassing and begging for Tommy’s corpse. Ghostbur’s voice continued on in the back of his mind as his eyes stayed trained on his feet.

“I’ve decided, right, I asked myself what Tommy likes, and I thought that he likes women, the discs, pasta, I have a list now of things you like.” Tommy looked up at the sound of a whistle, the sight of Dream in a boat, crossbow strapped to his back and waving a hand over for Tommy to join him, dragging him out of his walking nightmare.

“What have you brought me, Wilbur?” Tommy asked as he took a step forward. “I need to go with Dream.” They were going on a trip. Dream hadn’t really explained what it was for when he’d asked Tommy if he wanted to join him last night, but who was he to turn the offer down? Couldn’t be any more fucking boring than his life already was.

“Look, look,” Wilbur continued, floating in front of Tommy, stopping him in his tracks. He sighed and shouldered the rucksack he was bringing further up his arm. “So, I thought what else does Tommy Innit like? Democracy…” he trailed off as his grey, saturated eyes scanned up and down Tommy’s body. “You’re looking a bit rough.”

He didn’t reply, throwing Ghostbur a stern look before the other man nodded apologetically.

“What does Tommy like? His favourite thing in the whole wide world?” Tommy shrugged as he started walking towards Dream, who was leaning back in the boat, hand in the sea. He had no idea where Dream was taking him. Had no idea if he was ever going to return. Had no idea if he gave a shit anymore.

“Tubbo!”

Tommy froze in his tracks, gripping the straps of his bag as he slowly turned, staring at Ghostbur.

“I know you really like Tubbo, and I know you really miss him, so I got you a compass that points you in the direction of him, at all times.” Tommy’s lips parted to speak, but as Ghostbur pulled a small, smooth compass out of seemingly nowhere, all that fell from his mouth was a croaking cry. “No matter where you are, you’ll know where Tubbo is.”

It fit in his palm perfectly. The metal was cold against his flushed skin, smooth against the callouses. “Thank you,” he breathed shakily, looking up to try and smile at Ghostbur. It was the first time he’d actually looked at him, he’d actually seen him as a person, not just a cruel, endless whisper of his lost brother.

“No problem. Have fun with Dream,” he said, patting Tommy on the shoulder once before he vanished. Tommy blinked a couple of times, watching as Dream gestured for him to hurry up. He nodded, holding up a finger, before he looked back down at the compass in his hand. He traced the circumference before pressing it to his lips.

Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, he tugged his rucksack off of his shoulders. Dropping to his knees, he opened it, and buried the compass down beneath the spare clothes he had packed. He hesitated when he saw the pictures Ghostbur had brought him, hidden in at the side.

They were pictures of L’Manberg, of Tubbo, of Quackity. There was a Christmas tree in the city square. Decorated with golds and reds, and it lit up at night. Tommy hadn’t even realised it was almost Christmas until Ghostbur had returned with the pictures, handing them over with a smile.

He’d been tempted to burn them, watch the flames of his shitty campfire devour them. But he hadn’t been able to. And he couldn’t leave them behind. A loose curl fell in his face. Tommy blew it out of the way, gulping when it just fell back into position.

When Dream called his name, he straightened up and closed over his back, gripping it tightly in his hands. As he made his way over to the boat docked at the beach, he casually slung his left hand into his front pocket. And he held the tulip he’d picked, the petals kissing his scars.


	11. Cornflowers and Orange Tulips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tubbo moment

“We’ll hold your taxes off for a month,” Tubbo said, looking over to make sure Ranboo was writing down the decision.

“Thank you so much,” Niki sighed with relief as she smiled at Tubbo. “I’ll get it to you soon, I promise. Just with the bakery and the new florist, I’ve been so-”

“Don’t worry about it, Niki,” Fundy said from his chair, nodding as Niki bade them goodbye, leaving Tubbo’s office considerably happier than she’d entered. He sighed once the door shut behind her, leaning back in his chair as he ran a hand down his face. It had been a long day. Hours of listening to demands, complaints, requests. Of course, he had his cabinet, Fundy and Quackity at his side helping, and Ranboo scribbling down every agreement that was passed over his desk, but still.

Days like this always took it out of him.

“Who’s next then?” Tubbo turned to Ranboo, trying to place an enthused smile on his face. Ranboo snorted knowingly, shaking his head in amusement before he scanned over his schedule. “Mr Iana. He has a request about trading with Dream’s lands apparently.” Tubbo nodded, and gestured for Fundy to let Mr Iana in.

“Dream’s taken George.”

Well, Mr Iana had changed a bit since Tubbo had last spoken to him. Now he looked incredibly similar to the resident psychopath who started wars over some goddamn fish and had tried to murder Tubbo on more occasions than he could count on his goddamn hands.

Sapnap was already shouting before Fundy had even fully opened the door, storming into Tubbo’s office with furrowed brows and a scowl plastered on his face. Karl was behind him, cringing slightly as he rubbed his temples.

Tubbo looked to his other cabinet members for help, but Fundy was just rolling his eyes before he stuck his head out of the door, saying apologetically, “Sorry Mr Iana, we’ll be right with you in a couple of minutes,” before he was pulling it shut. And Quackity was just sitting there, looking like he was in physical pain as he watched Sapnap pause in front of Tubbo’s desk.

He frowned, eyes scanning over Sapnap as he shifted from foot to foot. “Taken?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat. Beside him, Ranboo’s fingers stilled on the book, ink blot swelling across the page. “What do you mean he’s _taken_ George?”

“George is gone,” Sapnap said, voice clearly frustrated. Tubbo was pretty sure frustrated was Sapnap’s default emotion. Frustrated, pissed off. And tired, evident by the dark circles that looked tattooed under his dark eyes.

“But you were living with Dream,” Tubbo said, cocking his head as he shrugged. Last he heard, Sapnap and George were in that castle, two knights under Dream’s clenched fist. He’s just assumed they were waiting on the board, as Dream pushed forward his pawns, as he attacked Tubbo’s pieces instead. He had no idea why the hell Sapnap was in front of him, in L’Manberg, talking about Dream kidnapping his lover, a twenty something year old man like it had any relevance or meaning to Tubbo.

“We left.” Sapnap’s voice was quiet, unsure. Tubbo went to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, when he noticed Sapnap glance up at Quackity, who was holding his head in his hands, dark eyes trained on the floor, refusing to look up. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Someone had to be taking the piss. There was no goddamn way.

“ _Quackity_ ,” Tubbo got out through gritted teeth. He sighed when the man’s head snapped up, a tentative grin plastered on his face. “Where is he living?” When Quackity didn’t respond, eyes shifting up to watch Karl and Sapnap carefully, Tubbo slammed his fist down on his desk.

Ranboo flinched in surprise, the ink spilling across his hands, and Karl practically jumped, gripping Sapnap’s spare hand as his eyes widened. Quackity didn’t move, clenching and unclenching his jaw in defiance. And Sapnap was just watching Tubbo like he wanted nothing more than to punch his face in.

“Where. Is. He. Living?” Tubbo repeated, ignoring everyone else and narrowing his eyes.

“With me,” Quackity admitted, standing up slowly. “So is Karl. And George was too, before…” he trailed off, choosing to shrug awkwardly rather than finish his sentence. Tubbo leaned back in his chair as he looked at Sapnap and Karl, folding his arms over his chest.

He had no idea who Karl even was really. He just seemed to have shown up on Schlatt’s side, and before anyone knew what was happening, he was on the battlefield, wielding a sword better than any average guard should have been able to. He disappeared for days on end, and whenever Tubbo saw him in L’Manberg, he was with Quackity, or glancing over his shoulder, clutching a book to his chest as he slid into an empty back alley.

He was weird, and he was shifty, and if Tubbo wasn’t the President, maybe he would’ve looked into it more. But he had never been the type to follow insane leads that would probably only end up with nothing, or him in massive trouble. No, that had always been Tommy’s preference.

Tubbo dealt with shit as it came, and while Karl was strange, he’d done nothing to harm L’Manberg. The other man in front of him, however. Well, he couldn’t say the same for Sapnap. And while he wasn’t one to hold grudges, he neither trusted nor liked Sapnap. He was a literal pyromaniac who delighted in killing animals for the sole sake of making people distraught. He had loose morals, and while he pretended to be an untethered mercenary like Punz, Tubbo had first-hand witnessed Sapnap letting Dream lead him around like a domesticated wolf for three years.

Just because Quackity had decided Sapnap wasn’t the worst looking person in the city had no bearing on Tubbo’s opinion on the man. So, he sat forward, shook his head and pointed an accusing finger in Sapnap’s direction.

“That man is not allowed to stay in my city.”

Three voices all started at once, shouts of protest and panic drowning each other out. Tubbo just rolled his eyes as he watched Quackity yell at him, hands waving around ridiculously, and Karl hold Sapnap back from Tubbo, while the two of them babbled nonsense. They only shut up, lips clamping down together when Quackity spun on his heels to face them, eyes feral as he hissed, shut the fuck up.

Tubbo gave a huff of laughter despite himself, watching as Quackity of all people tightened his hold on the leash. From Dream, the closest thing Tubbo had ever encountered to a God, to Quackity, a short, lean, loud mouthed lawyer.

“He’s legally allowed to be here,” Quackity said when he turned back to face Tubbo, placing his hands on the desk. “I’m here, right? And I was Schlatt’s right hand. It doesn’t matter which sides we were on before. We don’t do that here, Tubbo.”

“You switched before the battle,” Tubbo pointed out. He gestured to Sapnap with a demeaning head tilt. “He didn’t. He wasn’t even on Schlatt’s side, he was just on Dream’s side. Like he always is. Like he probably still is.”

“That’s not true,” Quackity said, but his voice was quieter than before, less sure of himself as Tubbo stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Q. He’ll betray you if there’s another war. You know he will. He’s never been able to say no to Dream. He looks out for himself. Delights in the chaos and destruction. He likes playing with fire, Quackity. And I won’t have that kind of person in my country. I won’t put my people in danger by allowing him to stay.”

“He’s been here for weeks and he’s not burned anything down, has he?” Quackity objected as he shoved Tubbo’s hand away. “You don’t understand, Tubbo. Dream’s…Dream’s-” He snarled as he cut himself off, clearly unable to find the words.

“Dream’s changed.”

Tubbo and Quackity both turned in sync, the former arching a brow at Sapnap, the latter watching with sympathetic caution. When Tubbo didn’t cut him off, or snap at him or demand Fundy remove him from the room, Sapnap continued, scratching the back of his neck.

“He’s changed. He’s not… he’s not the man who I called my brother anymore. Something in the past three years ’ve made him snap.” Tubbo opened his mouth, a spark of anger igniting in his throat at that, but Sapnap continued before he could argue. Before he could point out that the past three years were enough to make them all go insane. He glanced at the stitched L’Manberg flag on his coat, at the blue flowers blooming in the pots. Some of them had gone insane. And it had cost them everything.

But most of them, most of his family, had fought it all. Had fought back all the fucked-up monsters that lived and breathed in their bodies. They hadn’t let themselves snap, hadn’t become tyrants.

“I know it’s not an excuse. I’m not trying to excuse him. I’m just trying to say…I’m not on his side anymore. He’s made it clear he’s not on mine. And I…” Tubbo watched as he smiled down at Karl, eyes flickering up to Quackity. “I’ve found my team. I’m not going to betray anyone. I know what I’ve done. And I honestly don’t regret it.” Tubbo laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. But Sapnap continued, and despite himself, he let him speak.

“I fought alongside my brothers at the time,” Sapnap said, a hint of irritation slipping into his voice as Tubbo rolled his eyes. He dropped Karl’s hand, fisting his own fingers into his sweater, like his heart was trying to rip its way out of his chest. “I slaughtered animals, not people. And I didn’t like the people whose animals I slaughtered. I still don’t like those people.”

“Those people were, and still are, citizens of L’Manberg!” Tubbo exclaimed, eyes wide as he stood in front of Sapnap. Even though the man was five inches taller than him, and his hands looked big enough to crush Tubbo’s skull with, he held his ground. He was the President; he was here to protect his people.

“You stand here, telling me how you hate them, and you expect me to let you live amongst them?”

“Since when is it illegal to dislike people?” Sapnap argued, biting down on his bottom lip. “Just because I think they’re dicks; doesn’t mean I’m going to set fire to their homes. I know how to weigh up situations. And I’m not willing to lose what I have to piss off some people I already beat in a war a year ago.”

Tubbo swallowed heavily, dropping Sapnap’s gaze as he looked towards Ranboo, who shrugged, green and red eyes wide and skittish. “You’ve had no one vouch for you apart from Quackity.”

“I’ll vouch for him.” Tubbo’s head snapped towards Fundy, as Sapnap snorted from behind him.

“You’re the one he’s talking about, you know that right?” Tubbo said as the auburn-haired cabinet member nodded. “The one he hates. The one he killed the pet of?”

“I’m not the only one,” Fundy pointed out, gesturing outside of the window to where Niki stood, speaking to one of the citizens. “And the feeling’s mutual,” he added, rolling his eyes as Sapnap grinned. “But I believe him. About Dream. Something’s off. I believe he won’t betray us. And it’s not like we’re inviting him into the cabinet, right? We’re just letting him crash on Quackity’s couch.”

“Oh, he’s not sleeping on the couch,” Quackity said, subsiding a laugh when Karl roughly elbowed him.

“Why aren’t you staying in the Badlands?” Tubbo asked, ignoring Quackity as he looked up at Sapnap, scanning over the man as his face fell slightly. “They’re your friends.”

“They were,” Sapnap nodded gingerly, almost bitterly. “I don’t know where I stand with them anymore. Even if Sam wasn’t literally working with Dream on the Badlands’ behalf, he’s always seen Dream like a little brother. They go way back. If Dream asked him to...well, if Dream asked for his help. He wouldn't say no."

Tubbo hummed as he crossed the room back to his desk, jumping up so he was sitting on the edge. Sapnap held his breath, broad chest rising, not falling until Tubbo nodded. “Alright, he can stay. But if what you’re saying is true, you’ve betrayed Dream.”

Sapnap’s face bleached before he slowly nodded, a strand of dark hair falling in front of his face. “I suppose I have,” he breathed, voice shaky.

“So, I’d imagine he’s pretty pissed off at you.” Sapnap offered no answer to that apart from a shrug, scratching his arm as he refused to meet Tubbo’s eyes. “You can stay, but if Dream comes here looking for you, if he brings Punz and the Badlands and Eret and his whole order of knights, I will not risk waging a war by defending you. I will give you up _easily_. And no one under my command will fight alongside you. This is your mess, not L’Manberg’s. Not mine.”

“I don’t need your help, _President_.” Sapnap snarled, sneering at Tubbo. “I can deal with Dream on my own.”

“And what about George?” Tubbo blinked up at Karl, who was peering over Sapnap’s shoulder. “You won’t help us get him back?”

Tubbo sighed as he leaned back, hands braced on his desk. “What evidence do you have to suggest he was abducted by Dream?”

“None,” Quackity answered. “All he left was some weird, cryptic fucking note.”

“Do you have it with you?”

He kissed his teeth as Sapnap begrudgingly handed it over. The paper was practically ruined, folded and scrunched up so many times Tubbo thought it might disintegrate in his fingers. The air in the office stilled as he handed it back, Sapnap practically snatching it out of his fingers, covering it with his fist before he looked back at Tubbo. He seemed to hold his breath before Tubbo shrugged, walking back to drop into his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking to each of the three men in turn as they stood in front of his desk, each looking a different kind of worried. “I’m honestly sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a friend. But this looks like it was George’s choice. And although you might not like it, it sounds like, from that note, he’s made up his mind.”

Quackity opened his mouth to argue, but Tubbo firmly shook his head, crossing his hands. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” He watched as Quackity pushed his tongue into his cheek, before he nodded sombrely, tugging Karl outside by the sleeve, checking over his shoulder to make sure Sapnap was following. But he wasn’t.

He was standing in front of Tubbo’s desk, eyes lining with angry, vengeful tears. The note in his hand practically ash as he clenched his fists, shaking his head before he jabbed it in Tubbo’s direction. He flinched in his seat, and Fundy’s hand snapped towards the hilt of his sword, but Sapnap made no attempt to harm Tubbo. At least not with his fists.

“You have no idea what it’s like to lose a friend.” Tubbo blinked up at him, confused. “Not like this. George is my best friend. And he isn’t like Dream. He isn’t too far gone yet.”

“Sapnap, I-”

“Shut the fuck up, Tubbo. You’re just some kid that everyone decided was grown up enough to become the fucking President. You have no idea what it’s like to lose a brother, because you didn’t lose Tommy. You gave up on him. You sold him out to Dream. And I swear to you, Dream will fucking ruin that kid."

Tubbo’s jaw trembled as he stood up from his chair, the legs scraping against the wooden floors. He tried to jut his chin out, tried to hold himself tall, but he could feel himself crumbling in front of Sapnap. Could feel his knees buckling, his heart trembling painfully as the words he’d been trying to avoid, the truths he’d tried to shut out were shoved into his face.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I was protecting L’Manberg. I was protecting my lands.”

A cruel laugh. “You exiled your best friend! Don’t fucking dare compare our situations. You gave up on Tommy. I’m not giving up on George.”

Before Tubbo could even respond, choking on his own breath, everything dark and poisonous in his chest lurching up into his throat, Sapnap turned. Rubbing at his eyes in annoyance, he brushed past Karl and Quackity who were standing in the threshold, lips parted in shock. “Let’s go,” he sighed, dark hair dancing as soon as he stepped outside, wind slashing at them before the door shut.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo tried, reaching one long hand out. Tubbo shook his head, jaw trembling frustratingly as he left the room as quickly as he could without sprinting. He held back the tears that threatened to fall, a horrible clenching feeling in his chest as he walked. He walked past the borders, the walls of obsidian gone, and he didn’t even realise where he was going until he ended up at the Nether portal.

Fisting his fingers into his hair, he exhaled shakily. Shit. Sapnap was right. The goddamn psychopath who had chased him through the Nether while he was bleeding out, who had burned down his home and stolen his emeralds, who had pressed his blade against Tubbo's throat so many times he could remember how it felt if he just shut his eyes, was fucking right.

He’d sold out Tommy. He had sacrificed his best friend, his brother, for L’Manberg’s safety. But what was L’Manberg if he didn’t have it with Tommy. If he didn’t have his brother by his side.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning his surroundings in case anyone was about to appear. But he was alone. Painfully and continuously alone. Wrapping his arms around himself, Tubbo stepped forward, letting the purple consume him, let himself fidget as the particles awkwardly tugged on his skin, pulling him out of one dimension into another.

It didn’t take that long to find what he figured must be Tommy’s portal. Sweat from the blistering heat coated his hair, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest. He undid the tie around his neck before he ducked into Tommy’s portal, as unstable as it seemed, its particles spitting out into the hot air.

The red tie fell from his fingers before he was once again pulled away, drifting down slowly into the void before the lava claimed it. Stumbling from the portal, Tubbo blinked, trying to shake the fuzzy feeling in his head.

The fresh air almost cut right through him, as he realised, he was standing in a pond. Grumbling under his breath, he waded through it, shaking out his legs as he clambered up onto the banks. He squinted around, but it just looked like he’d ended up in a regular plain, nothing but oak trees and weeds to accompany him. But then he noticed a dot of white in the distance, perched on a small hill. And since Tubbo really, really did not want to go back to L’Manberg, his little and partially soaking legs started to carry him across the grassy nothingness.

He didn’t even realise he was humming under his breath before he stopped, crouching down beside a clump of orange flowers that had caught his attention. His song stopped in favour of a painful whimper that he couldn’t stop from escaping, as he dropped to his knees in front of the flowers, not wanting to pick any of them, but not wanting to leave them here.

They didn’t belong here.

He’d fucked up so badly.

His breathing was shaky as he glanced up to see a white tent, its canvas sheets rustling in the whistling wind. This must be where Tommy was staying. In a tent. In a tent by the sea, miles and miles away from L’Manberg. Miles and miles away from Tubbo. He buried his head in the crook of his elbow, the other hand digging into the flowers until his nails were pressed so hard into his palm it started to hurt, blood weeping from the shallow grazes.

He only moved when he felt something touch the back of his head. Jerking away, he paused when he met Ghostbur’s eyes, the man looking confused as to why Tubbo was sitting in a patch of flowers, sniffling pathetically into his arms.

Ghostbur didn’t try to talk to him and Tubbo couldn’t tell if he was grateful for that or not, as the other man sat down beside him, legs in a basket. Tubbo tried to calm his breathing, putting his head in between his legs as he dug his fingers into his scalp.

“Where’s Tommy?” he finally asked, his voice sounding unrecognisable to his own ears.

“On a trip with Dream,” Ghostbur replied with a shrug, his translucent fingers brushing over the petals of the flowers. Tubbo wanted to ask more, wanted to ask where they’d gone, if Tommy was alright, but he couldn’t find it in himself to voice his questions. Especially when a slight, tiny sliver of bitterness unfurled in his gut. Here Tommy was hating Tubbo, even when he’d come to try and save him, bring him back home, rectify his mistake. While he was away with Dream, leaving Tubbo here alone.

“You’re the one who sent Tommy on holiday, right?” Tubbo nodded, not correcting Ghostbur about the exile.

“He was going to send us to war again.” Tubbo tried to explain, tried to justify it, but even he couldn’t tell who he was really speaking to. “I tried to do the logical thing.”

“You saved the people of L’Manberg,” Ghostbur said, a soft, honest, childlike smile on his face. Tubbo nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the grass. He liked Ghostbur, of course he did. And he was clearly less fucked up in the head than Wilbur had been at the end. But sometimes he would just lay in his bed, heart screaming out for his old life.

“I don’t know if it was worth it,” Tubbo admitted, glancing up to meet grey eyes that went on forever. “I know in my head it was. But...it just doesn’t feel like it was the right thing to do. Not in here,” he added, hand ghosting over his chest. His shirt was damp, and stiff, and he really just wanted to go home and wear one of his old sweaters. But he didn’t even know where home was anymore.

He missed all of them. He missed the village where he grew up. The orphanage that was always cold, where he just ate soup that tasted like rocks and cleaned hallways with brooms that gave him blisters. But there was always Tommy. He couldn’t remember not being with Tommy.

He missed his old base. When him and Tommy had first stumbled into these lands, and Dream had found them trying to break into the community house, fingers riddled with frostbite and their bodies little more than skin and bones. When he’d let them stay, when Tubbo had built his own base. With his own walls and his own chests for his own possessions.

He missed L’Manberg. Missed waking up and knowing someone, anyone, would be there. Will, Tommy, Eret, Niki or Fundy. He missed fighting for something he believed in so strongly it hurt his heart. He even missed Pogtopia. With its leaks and railings that barely even worked but Techno demanded stay. With Niki’s potato soup and Quackity’s laugh that would echo around the rocks even if he was three floors below Tubbo.

Tubbo glanced down at the flowers in front of him. Blooming despite the cold, their petals almost obnoxiously bright against the rest of the barren landscape. He missed his brick home with Tommy.

“I think Tommy understands,” Ghostbur said, his grey hair shifting in the wind. “I think he’s more angry at himself.”

“Okay,” Tubbo replied, because he had no idea what else to say. No idea what else he could say. No idea what he was supposed to say. He’d never been good with his words. Had always slightly terrified him, the idea that his words mattered. Especially when it was hard for him to read, hard for him to pick up on other people’s words. And now he was President, and his words were the law. His words were the only words.

“I think you did good, Tubbo. I think you’re doing good. You’re the best president L’Manberg has ever had.”

He looked up at that, eyes widening as a smile fought its way onto his lips. “Really?” he asked, voice breaking off slightly as he sniffed. It was just the cold, making his nose runny, and his eyes sting.

“For sure,” Ghostbur beamed.

“I think you were better the first term,” Tubbo sighed, biting down on his bottom lip.

There was a silent pause for a moment, and he glanced up to see Ghostbur cradling a pile of dried cornflowers and crushed up blue dye in his hands. His palms were smeared in blue, and he’d be surprised if they weren’t permanently stained. “Tubbo, I don’t even remember that.”

“You brought freedom to the nation-” Tubbo started, trying to get Ghostbur to remember it, remember anything, but the older ma cut him off.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, please.” He nodded apologetically, but before he could say anything else, Ghostbur was turning to face him again, another smile that was a bit too saccharine plastered on his face. “Tubbo, I know you’ve been sad.”

He nodded in response, unsure what to say to that. He didn’t exactly want to sit and talk to his dead friend about his issues. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like Ghostbur picked up on the teenager’s hesitance, as he continued speaking, the petals and dye vanished from his palms.

“Tommy will love his vacation, it’s just an adjustment. And you know what they say about vacations: the best part is coming home!” Tubbo’s breath turned to brick in his throat. “So, the longer he stays on vacation, the better he’ll feel coming home!”

“You’re looking after him, right?” he asked Ghostbur, looking up at the tent beside them. It looked secure, and neat, which meant there was no way Tommy had done it on his own. And while it looked like it wouldn’t blow away in the wind, it didn’t look comfortable. Didn’t look as nice as his old home in L’Manberg, with its flowerboxes and shutters.

“Of course,” Ghostbur nodded. “You know how you and Tommy always have each other, Tubbo?

“Yeah,” he breathed, looking back towards the other man as he tried to smile. He couldn’t say to Ghostbur, because he knew the man wouldn’t understand, but he was starting to think he’d lost Tommy at this point. That maybe he had completely broken their trust. And while he loved L’Manberg, it wasn’t the same way he loved his brother.

“Well, I wanted you both to know that even with the distance,” Ghostbur said as he pulled something out of seemingly thin air, holding his hands out towards Tubbo. “You always have each other, so I got you this.”

“Oh Wilbur,” Tubbo choked out as he carefully picked up the compass lying in Ghostbur’s palms. He completely forgot that he didn’t like being called that anymore, that this wasn’t the man who had practically raised him for two years.

“It points you in the direction of Tommy at all times. And what it means is that no matter where you are in the world, you’ll both be able to look at the compass and know where each other are.”

He traced the red hand as it pointed out towards the sea, head looking up, as if Tommy might appear. As if Tommy might come back to him.

“Thank you. I miss him so much,” he added after a minute, shaking his head in frustration as he choked on his words, an ugly sob racking through his body. He held the compass to his chest, jutting his chin out as he sighed. “I didn’t think it would be this hard,” he admitted, refusing to meet Ghostbur’s eyes as he looked up at the sky. At the clouds that passed overhead, unaware of anything happening below.

“He’ll come back soon,” Ghostbur said from beside him. “And he’ll be so happy that you’ve kept L’Manberg peaceful.”

A cruel laugh ripped from Tubbo at that. A mocking laugh, mocking himself, and at the mess he’d landed himself in. Because in sacrificing Tommy for L’Manberg, he’d also sacrificed a part of himself. He’d lost his home, to keep everyone else’s safe.

He didn’t bother wiping the tears that clung to his jaw away as he picked one of the tulips, pressing it against the glass of the compass. The red needle twitched, and Tubbo fought the urge to get up and follow it. Sail to the edge of the world to find Tommy.

Instead, he stood up, compass and flower in hand, said goodbye to Ghostbur, and stepped back through the portal. Because he’d done what he had had to do. And he couldn’t reverse it now. He couldn’t bring back Tommy. No matter how hard he wanted to. No matter how much it was eating him up inside, leaving him listless.

He was the President. And if he couldn’t be the best friend he’d thought he was, he’d be the best goddamn President L’Manberg had ever see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a while guys, been feeling a bit unmotivated, but I do really love writing this fic
> 
> thanks for all the support :D


	12. Open Hand or Closed Fist

Tommy thought his lungs might fucking burst at the rate he was going at. He couldn’t remember ever running this fast in his life. Even when he had fucking hordes of people with bows knocked with arrows aimed right at his heart chasing him. Which, thinking about it, happened too fucking often for a teenager.

His panting ripped right through him as he skidded through the forest, desperately trying to avoid stray branches that lurched out for him, trying to grab a fistful of shaggy blond hair, or grip onto the tears in his clothes. It wasn’t until he tasted the iron and the metallic tang in his mouth did he realise he must’ve bitten his tongue, and he spat out a fat blob of phlegm coated in crimson before he bared his teeth.

He hated running. Hated the way the soles of his boots hit the uneven ground, hated the way his whole body jostled, hated the way he had to train himself to be agile, to lurch over roots and hurdle over bushes, the way his bad leg would sometimes lock awkwardly without his permission. He fucking hated it. But there was something about the loose, roaring wind on his face, raking through his hair, brushing against his body, that made him feel a little bit like he was flying.

Boots caked in slick mud, hair battered into a tangled mess, running let Tommy feel power when he had none. Especially as he glanced over his shoulder, scanning for the man he knew was chasing him. But there was no one to be seen, so Tommy just ploughed forward, feet kissing the ground.

Jumping over a stream, feet kicking off against the array of pebbles and rocks beneath him, a laugh brushed over his ears. Landing on the other side of the stream in a crouch, Tommy’s whole body froze. His head snapped up, skimming around him, swearing under his breath when all he could see was greenery. He had definitely heard a fucking laugh. And he knew exactly who it belonged to.

He forced himself to stand, taking off through the woods. Breathing heavy, his eyes flicked up when he saw the leaves above him rustling. He felt the blood drain from his body as the realisation dawned on him, horror threatening to seize hold.

A chorus of colourful swears fell from his mouth as he urged himself to go faster, grimacing as he kept his eyes on the canopy of leaves, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He knew he was fucked. He’d been fucked from the start. But he kept running, the silent, miniscule hope that settled in his chest as he ran refusing to be put out.

He didn’t even see Dream before he was being tackled to the ground, spluttering out mud as he cried out in panic. A wheezing laugh surrounded him as he desperately rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands. He struggled against Dream’s hold on the ground, but the older man didn’t let go, still laughing above him.

“Fuck, Tommy. You suck at this.” When he finally managed to claw all the wet mud from his face, he scowled up at Dream, trying to shake him off desperately.

“How was I supposed to know you were going to swing through the fucking trees?” Tommy objected, sighing when Dream finally let go, still laughing hoarsely from behind his mask as he stood up. He offered out a hand to Tommy, who took it tentatively, letting Dream help him to his feet.

“You need to be less predictable in your movements,” Dream told him before he started trekking back to where they’d set up their tents. Tommy still didn’t really get why they were here. He’d asked Dream on the boat ride here, but the other man had just asked if he wanted to go or not, telling him he’d figured Tommy would like a change of scenery.

And Dream wasn’t wrong, Tommy had been starting to get sick of Logstedshire after the two months he’d been there, sick of the lake and fishing and his own thoughts.

So, he hadn’t complained when they’d arrived at the edge of a forest, and Dream told him there was a tent in the boat for him. Hadn’t complained as he’d set it up, glancing over as Dream set his own tent up, trying to figure out what the catch was. Hadn’t complained when Dream had asked if he wanted to play a game of manhunt. He was starting to think that Dream really had just wanted to take him on a trip, help him get away from everything.

“You hungry?” Dream asked. Tommy nodded slowly, furrowing his brows as he watched Dream grin from under his mask. They were still like half an hour away from their camp, how the fuck where they gonna- oh. Tommy hummed in realisation when Dream tugged his bow off of his back and handed it to him.

“I’m sure we can find something about here,” the blond said as he unclipped one of the knives that seemed to be permanently strapped to his limbs. Tommy wondered if he slept with all that steel on him.

“How did the manhunts even start?” Tommy asked as they snuck through the forest. Dream didn’t look at him, mask staying forward, looking through the leaves for any possible prey, but he hesitated, jaw clenching. Tommy started to silently panic when a moment passed, wondering if he’d pressed too far, if that was too personal, too much for Tommy to ask when he wasn’t even really Dream’s friend. But wasn’t he? He hadn’t killed Tommy yet, and he was the only one apart from his dead fucking brother who bothered to come see him in exile, and he’d even brought him on a trip, so maybe-

“We always just kind of did it, I guess.” Dream’s voice broke Tommy out of his internal dread. He glanced up, blinking when he saw the smile on Dream’s face. He wasn’t smiling at Tommy, it was a soft smile, intimate and personal as the taller man looked forward, as if Tommy wasn’t even there anymore. It was a smile he’d never really seen on Dream before.

“Me and Sap grew up in this citadel by the sea, and I can’t remember a time where we weren’t chasing each other around. And then we kind of adopted George, and he joined in. I was just the best at avoiding them, so we fell into this kind of rhythm.” He laughed loosely, shaking his head as he glanced down in Tommy’s direction.

He had seen that city before, when he’d gone with Will to meet Techno and Phil. He’d never known that was where Dream had come from.

_“You ever been up there, then?” Tommy asked, leaning over the railing of the small balcony. Wilbur’s old house was nicer than he’d been expecting, with its wooden beams and yellow wallpaper everywhere and exotic rugs. And there were so many fucking plants everywhere. He almost didn’t want to leave the townhouse by the sea, but their week was almost over. And he guessed he kind of missed Tubbo._

_Technoblade murmured in an affirmative, but didn’t say anything, red eyes firmly on the sea in front of them. He’d found the man sitting out here alone a while ago, and while he was seemingly refusing to speak to Tommy, he hadn’t told him to piss off yet, so Tommy was taking that as a win._

_He’d been scared shitless when Wilbur had brought up the idea of Tommy coming with him to visit his home and his friends. Because Technoblade was a legend. A legend Tommy had been hearing about for a couple of years, and the idea of not only seeing the man, but staying with him for a whole week. Fuck, it was insane to even consider._

_But here he was, leaning on a balcony above the cliffside while Technoblade sat against the wall, knees pulled to his chest. He seemed kind of sad, as he watched the waves lap at the sky. Tommy didn’t know how else to deal with sad people apart from talking, try and distract them. So that’s what he did._

_“It looks cool,” Tommy commented as he looked up towards the city built on top of the cliffs, off in the distance. It was all blonde sandstone, and Tommy squinted, tracing his hands in the air as if he could touch the massive walls that guarded the city inside. It looked ten times larger than the town Technoblade and Phil lived in, with red tiled roofs and bright glowing lights breaking through the darkness of night._

_“You’re goin’ to fall.” Tommy blinked down at the other man as he tightened his hold on the railings. It was the first thing Technoblade has said to him all night. Was probably like the fifth thing he’d said to Tommy all week. “You’re not supposed to sit on the railings, they’re meant to stop idiots from fallin’.”_

_Tommy dropped down onto the solid concrete with a soft thud, holding his hands up in innocence. Before he could say anything to Technoblade, before he could try and desperately carry this conversation that had somehow happened, the window to the balcony was being shoved open, shutters hitting against the wall, and Wilbur was clambering through._

_“Look at you two,” he grinned before he shut the window back over with his elbow, his arms occupied with a bottle of something. “Getting along, being friends.”_

_Technoblade rolled his eyes, but Tommy noticed the hesitation in his face, in his eyes, as he watched Wilbur sit down beside him. As he instantly looked away, frown deepening when Wilbur looked over at him._

_“Yep,” Tommy nodded, desperately trying to quell the growing tension between the two friends. “We’re best friends now, practically brothers, you’ve been replaced, Will.”_

_Wilbur scoffed before he nodded along, uncorking the bottle he’d brought. “What’s that?” Tommy questioned, going to snatch it from Will’s hands when the older man held it away._

_“Cherry wine,” Wilbur commented, before he took a swig._

_“Gimme,” Tommy demanded, grasping his hands out._

_“You’re a child,” Wilbur objected, and before Tommy could start screaming in protest, he held a finger up to his lips. “Shut up, Phil’s asleep.”_

_“Maybe we should all be too,” Technoblade cut in, bitterness leaking from his low drawl._

_“No one’s stopping you,” Wilbur shrugged, gesturing to the shut window that led back inside. Technoblade’s eyes flicked up to it, but he didn’t move, leaning his head against the railings instead, pink hair falling in front of his eyes. He looked up when Wilbur elbowed him, holding out the green bottle._

_Tommy thought he was going to reject it, shake his head and keep his distant, mournful eyes focused on the sea again, but long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, downing half the fucking thing. His lips parted as he watched in amazement, Wilbur laughing softly before Technoblade handed it back._

_The rest of the night was spent with hushed whispers, rushed games of I spy. With Wilbur and Techno passing the wine between each other, letting Tommy take one goddamn sip before Will was instantly grabbing it back, ignoring Tommy’s protests that Will let him fight in a war but wouldn’t let him drink. With the soft melody of the sea below them, and the quietness of everything else._

_It was the first time Tommy had ever seen Technoblade smile, tusks peeking out from pale lips and ears under pink hair flattening._

“I remember sliding down the roofs of the city, and the tiles would come loose, smashing down onto the ground. And we used to climb onto the battlements that surrounded the whole city. One wrong step and we’d be in the fucking ocean.”

“I’m guessing you never made a wrong step then,” Tommy commented, tightening his fingers around the bow as he refused to think about that night on the balcony anymore, trying his best to concentrate on what Dream was saying.

“Nope,” Dream nodded his head, clicking his tongue. “Scared the shit out of our parents though. And pissed the hell out of the rest of the city. So, we had to move from the roofs and alleyways into forests and farmlands. I guess we just never wanted to give that feeling up, even when we moved here. It always made me feel like I was untouchable, invincible.”

“You’re just a show-off,” Tommy huffed, but he was smiling. Even as he remembered what it was like to feel like that. He used to feel like that in battle, back-to-back with Tubbo, almost moving as one rather than two, blades becoming an extension of themselves. He’d always felt above everyone else, like he was floating through the air, and if he let go off Tubbo, he’d go tumbling down.

Dream opened his mouth, dimples crinkling, when his head snapped to the side, and he gestured for Tommy to be quiet. He nodded, following Dream’s eyeline, lips parting when he saw the deer. How the fuck had Dream even noticed it? The man was fucking insane. He looked up, slightly terrified, watching as Dream crouched down.

“Aim the bow,” he whispered, lightly tugging Tommy down next to him. He nodded eagerly, raising the bow, squinting his eyes as he knocked the arrow back. “You need to relax your fingers.” Dream’s voice was lower when he whispered, his scarred fingers moving Tommy’s fingers into the correct position.

He wasn’t half bad at shooting, but he’d never realised there was a proper way to do it. He’d just picked it up one day, pulled the string back, let the arrow fly, and that was how he had done it every time since then.

“Don’t grip the arrow with your fingers,” Dream said, pushing Tommy’s shoulders down slightly. “And pull the string with your back, not your arm.” Tommy nodded, rolling his shoulders back before he moved, keeping his eyes trained on the deer in front of him, as it licked at a puddle.

His arrow wedged itself in its neck.

The creature collapsed with a whine laced in pain, its eyes rolling back inside its head before it had even hit the ground. The leaves around the body displaced with the force it dropped with, blowing into Tommy’s face as he lowered the bow and blinked his eyes fully open again.

“Let’s go,” Dream laughed, clapping Tommy on the back before he moved towards the deer bleeding out on the ground.

“I thought you didn’t like using a bow that much,” Tommy said as he followed after him, running his fingers along the bow’s string. Dream shook his head as he bent down and snapped the arrow out of the thing’s neck, shaking the blood off of it.

“I don’t. But it’s good to know how to properly use one. I’m surprised no one’s ever showed you how. Would’ve thought Wilbur or Technoblade would have.” Tommy swallowed down the lump in his throat that rose at that, at the mention of his brother who had died, leaving him completely and utterly alone, and the man who Tommy had been an inch away from calling a brother, before he’d left the face of the earth. He refused to pick up on it, shrugging in reply as he felt Dream’s eyes bare into him.

“And who taught you?” he asked, purposefully forcing to pout in his voice. Even in exile, even when he was God knows where with Dream and a dead deer, he had to keep up appearances.

“George did,” Dream answered easily as he hauled the deer over his shoulder, gesturing with his head for Tommy to follow him. “He’s a good archer.”

Tommy hummed awkwardly in response. Last he’d heard, Dream had dethroned George, and him and his annoying ass boyfriend’s relationship was on the rocks. And he didn’t want to push, didn’t want to piss off Dream. Didn’t want to lose his only friend by prying like he always did.

All he knew that was whenever he pried, people got pissed off at him. So he kept his mouth shut, ignored the way Dream cocked his head at him, and trailed after him, blood from the deer dripping onto his scuffed shoes.

He sat down at the fire, watching as Dream cut the deer up, throwing the meat onto the flames. Dream was singing under his breath, notes trailing off, not fully committing to the melody, and Tommy fucking hated how much it reminded him of Wilbur. But what he hated more was the way his shoulders lowered as Dream continued, nodding his head along to the rhythm. As Tommy’s breathing felt more natural, easier than it had in two months.

“Thanks,” he said when Dream handed him a plate, picking at the meat. He flinched when Dream sat down across from him, cringing inwardly at himself. He had to stop fucking doing that.

“You good?” Dream asked, and Tommy nodded quickly, licking his fingers after chewing on the meat. Kinda dry, but better than any of the shit salmon and chicken he’d been eating for weeks on end.

“Hey, do you-” he cut himself off as he looked up, meeting pale, green, amused eyes. 

“Do I what?” Dream grinned, but all Tommy could do was gawk at the other man in confusion as he shook his head and snorted with laughter.

“What are you doing?” He’d seen Dream’s face. He’d seen it twice before. When he’d handed him the discs in return for freedom, and when he’d sliced the mask from his face on the battlefield. But he’d never properly looked either times. He was always kind of preoccupied with the threat of imminent death.

“It gets hot under the mask,” was all Dream said as he raked his hands through his hair, leaning back on a log and shoving deer meat into his gob like a fucking gremlin. 

His face was sharper than he remembered it being, but Tommy wondered if that was just from all the ‘trauma’ Puffy always banged on about them all having. He had high cheekbones, and Tommy wondered how the fuck people got cheekbones that looked like they’d been specifically carved out. And then there were the scars.

The man was more scars than flesh. They picked their way into his jaw, one zagged over his nose, through his eyebrow, and there were too many to count across the side of his neck. And then there was the one Tommy remembered. Every time he’d thought about Dream for two years, he remembered the scar that snaked its way across half of the man’s face. Right through his right eye to the top of his lips.

Tommy figured that even without the scars, Dream would look kind of wraithlike. Other worldly almost. He’d first thought that about Technoblade, but then he’d seen the man panting and sweating while he farmed, brushing his hair with a pout as Wilbur mocked him, and all the bravado and idolisation Tommy had placed upon him had slowly ebbed away. The Blood God had been replaced with a normal man, a man albeit insane at fighting, but the same man who screamed in frustration when you walked over his crops.

“How many people have you killed?” The question fell out of his mouth before he could catch it, his eyes widening when he realised what he’d just said. He wanted to look away, wanted to drop Dream’s harsh, piercing gaze.

“No one kills a man faster than himself, Tommy.” He rolled his eyes at the pretentious shit that Dream spewed, but the amusement was short lived. Every time Dream moved; the scars embedded in his flesh moved too. He couldn’t figure out if he was in awe of them, of the slivers of silver that cut their way through tanned skin and golden freckles, or if he was fucking shitting it.

“The things you say to people, the look on your face when you do it. You…you enjoy it,” he choked out, remembering the way Dream had smashed Skeppy’s hand at the Battle of the Lake. Remembering the sound of the bones shattering, the shrill scream fuelled by raw pain. The smile that had stitched its way onto Dream’s face. He had been on the verge of death from a wound in his chest, on his way to passing out, and he still remembered the sounds more vividly than he could remember anything else.

“They deserve it,” Dream said easily, scratching at the patchy stubble on his jaw.

“And that’s for you to decide?” Tommy asked, tilting his head in genuine curiosity, even as sparks of anger started in the pit of his stomach. But Tommy didn’t let those sparks catch light anymore. It wasn’t worth it now. “Who deserves a second chance and who doesn’t?”

Dream sighed thoughtfully, leaning forward, arms on his legs, A minute paused before he shook his head, a smile on his lips. Tommy couldn’t tell what that smile meant. It felt like a silent warning, a threat, but Dream was making no moves towards him. The man’s netherite sword lay discarded by his tent, his bow tucked into his rucksack.

“You’re such a waste, you know that right?” Dream’s voice cut through him.

“What?” He tried to bark it out, to force some old snap back into his words, but it just came out weak, tired, and slightly terrified.

“If you were different, better, I would’ve asked you to join me. None of this would have needed to happen. You wouldn’t have been exiled. You would’ve been on my team, at my side,” Dream mused, green eyes narrowing attentively as he scanned over Tommy. “You’re glorious, powerful. Or at least, you _were_ ,” he added with a dramatic sigh, dropping backwards onto the log with a shrug.

“Shut up,” Tommy hissed, clamping his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block Dream out. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I saw a lot of Techno in you, actually. Thought maybe you would live up to your friend’s legacy. But Techno’s stronger, isn’t he Tommy?” He shook his head, digging his nails into his skin. “Ah, you know he is, don’t you? Stronger, smarter, funnier…better. No wonder Wilbur liked him more. Not that it’s a competition, of course. But if it was, he’d win.”

Tommy tried to blink away the frustrating tears that threatened to fall, burying his head in-between his knees. “Fuck, sorry, should I not have brought up Wilbur? I’m sorry, Tommy. Seriously, I know losing a brother must be hard. But you shouldn’t blame yourself, really. You couldn’t have stopped him. He had gone insane, seriously lost his fucking mind. Even Techno couldn’t help him.”

“Fuck off!” Tommy screamed, but he couldn’t even tell if his words were even leaving his head. He felt everything claw at him, felt his stomach twist, bile crawling its way up his throat. He thought of the dead deer, the deer he had killed, that Dream had thrown onto the campfire.

“Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.” He couldn’t even hear his own voice anymore, and he wondered if his words were trapped inside. If he was trapped in this fucking prison of flesh and bone and torn shorts and shaggy hair that was too long and himself. There was too much of himself to cope with. He couldn’t cope with it all.

The sounds of bubbling lava echoed in his mind, faraway and untouchable. Hot and burning and refreshing.

He lurched backwards when he felt something tap his shoulder. Unfurling from himself, he looked up, skittish with his eyes blown wide. Dream smiled sympathetically down at him, and Tommy wanted to rip off his skin from his bones with his own nails.

“Finish your dinner, buddy,” Dream said, squeezing Tommy’s shoulder before he straightened up, making his way towards his own tent. “Don’t stay up too late, yeah?”

Tommy found himself nodding, cheeks damp and burning, chest feeling too tight for his lungs, for his breath. He didn’t finish his dinner. He just crawled into his tent, not bothering to change as he buried his face into the crappy blanket he’d brought. Tugging Wilbur’s old coat over himself, he gasped for breath, caught in that awkward position of desperately not wanting to cry, not wanting Dream to hear him cry, and only being able to sob instead of breathe.

God. He didn’t fucking want this anymore. He didn’t want any of it. He didn’t want to be trapped in this body, in this tent, on this Earth. He didn’t want to be plagued with the ghosts of his brothers, of his memories, of cherry wine and the sea and balconies.

He wanted something else.

He wanted to breathe without it hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the comments and kudos guys :D


	13. Saw a Face in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts

Tommy didn’t think he’d ever been so cold. He knew he probably had, of course he had. He’d lived in trees and abandoned barns and fields for years, of course he had been colder. But standing there, on that beach, watching the sea crawl up to the shore like it was hesitant, like it was scared of him, he could feel the cold finally ripping at his skin, tearing him completely apart.

He thought about the lava. About how he had so desperately wanted to feel it blister across his skin, cleaving apart his scars, melting down his brain. Would that hurt more? Or would it be worse when the sea took him, dragging his bones down into the darkness. He wanted to dissolve into it. How many steps would it take? If he just started walking, sand licking at his feet, water latching onto his legs. How many steps would it take for him to finally die.

Breathing in, swallowing air with a lump in his throat, he moved forward, feet brushing against the grains of glass below him, as the poisonous ocean whispered to him.

And then green appeared in his peripheral, and Tommy paused with one foot in the water. The cold dancing its way up his leg, nerves shooting.

“Hey,” Dream said as he jogged over to Tommy, tugging his mask off to reveal a warm smile. Almost warm enough to fight against the ice that was currently slicing through Tommy with its sharp edges and glass fragments.

“Hey,” Tommy nodded, and despite himself, despite it all, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. Dream was here. He watched as the older man glanced around, checking over his shoulder and his shaggy hair brushing against his face. Tommy ran a hand through his own hair. He hadn’t ever really thought how similar their hair was. How similar they were, he guessed. He was always too concerned with defeating Dream, with the hatred that lived in the pit of his stomach.

“Where’s everyone else?” Dream asked tentatively as his green eyes focused back on Tommy, widening when he glanced down, realising he was standing in the water. He didn’t even fight back when Dream placed a warm but stern hand on his wrist, tugging him out of the lapping waves and over to where Tommy had spent hours before setting up his party. He cringed at the table and chairs, at the plates stacked with food he’d begged and bartered with the villagers hours away for. He just wanted it all to go away.

He would’ve knocked it all over there and then if Dream wasn’t still holding onto him, like he was scared Tommy might vanish somehow.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I had to…” He trailed off when Tommy held out his sword after unlatching it from his belt. Dream raised an eyebrow, and Tommy started apologising rapidly, biting back stinging tears as he pulled his helmet off too, frantically gesturing for Dream to take it from him. To take it from him and destroy it, like he deserved.

That was why Dream was here, right? To make sure he got his punishment, got what he deserved. Not to be his fucking friend. He didn’t understand why Dream was so nice to him, why he was so insistent on being nice to him. He didn’t deserve it. And Dream had other shit to do, he was important.

He didn’t even realise Dream was speaking until the other man grabbed his shoulder, shaking him slightly. Tommy quickly clamped his mouth shut, silencing his apologise as Dream stared down at him with wide eyes, as if Tommy was stressing him out. He probably was. He was a fucking mess. “No, no, it’s fine,” Dream said as he gently pushed the helmet and sword back towards Tommy.

“Really?” he breathed, and his words didn’t sound like his own. They sounded cracked and ruined. He let the items tumble into the sand anyway. Wanted to let himself tumble. Let the sand fill his lungs until he was nothing, let the shore bury him as it ate him, chewing for years and years.

“Yeah,” Dream said, trying to smile as he rubbed Tommy’s shoulder in what he figured was meant to be soothing. He refused to lean into the touch, back so straight and bones so heavy it hurt. “Today’s the party, right?” Dream asked, whispered, like he’d been trying to avoid the topic before one of them ultimately had to face it.

Face the reality where Tommy had invited the people he had once called a family to a party. And he knew, he knew they weren’t a family anymore. He wasn’t a fucking idiot. He’d known as soon as Phil had told him Wilbur was dead it was all gone. As soon as Techno had him on the ground, hadn’t moved when Tommy pressed his trident against his throat, wanting to see how far he’d go. He knew they weren’t a family, but he had at least hoped they could still be friends.

And they all knew it wasn’t just a party invitation. Dream, Ghostbur, the sand and the fucking sea all knew. It was a last, desperate, sobbing and grating beg for the people he had loved, had fought for, to come back to him.

And they hadn’t.

“Yeah. I-where is everyone?” he asked, stepping out of Dream’s hold as he glanced up at the older man, everything around him moving slowly, too slowly.

“I don’t know,” Dream said quietly, as if it pained him to answer the question. “I just saw Tubbo in L’Manberg. I thought he would be heading here.”

Tommy tried not to let it show on his face just how painful that was to hear. How he felt everything in him come undone slowly, like he could feel each thread being slowly, sluggishly pulled apart.

“Wilbur sent out the invites, right?” he asked, looking out to the sea again, unable to face Dream’s sad, pitiful gaze. He did not need pity. Not Dream’s.

“Yeah, yeah, he sent them to everyone. He even told Tubbo face to face.”

“Really? Wilbur’s seen Tubbo?”

“Yeah. In L’Manberg.”

“Why’s no one here then?” he demanded, realising he was being too sharp, too harsh to Dream when he hadn’t done anything, not to Tommy. But he couldn’t help himself, fear and panic and confusion threatening to choke him out. He turned from the sea, the skin across his face feeling too tight as he looked up at Dream, face pleading, soul begging and screaming and thrashing.

Dream’s face crumpled slightly, and Tommy figured it was no wonder the guy liked wearing a mask. He couldn’t hide a damn thing. “Uh…maybe they’re late?” Dream said, but they both knew that wasn’t true. Even as Dream awkwardly scratched at his neck, blond hair falling in his face. “I was running late,” he commented, trying to justify a useless hope that neither of them could even hold onto.

“Why-”

Dream cut him off, probably thinking he could handle this situation before Tommy spiralled. He’d started to pick up on that. Dream’s quickness to try and handle shit before it imploded. Because that must be what he was doing, Tommy told himself as he watched Dream try and beam down at him, the smile too saccharine, the eyes too pained and faded.

He wondered why Dream was even trying. Remembered how uncaring the other man had been when he’d…in the Nether, months ago. When he’d pulled Tommy back from the ledge, said it wasn’t his time to die. Not because he cared, but because Tommy was important to him, the image of Tommy and his exile was useful for Dream’s advantage politically.

But Tommy had been here for almost three months now. And he had no idea what the fuck was happening back home. With Dream, with Tubbo, with George and Eret. With Technoblade disappearing or with Quackity as the new Vice President. He had no fucking clue what was happening. But he doubted he was a part of it at all anymore. He had been cut off. He couldn’t be important to Dream’s game anymore.

So why the fuck was he still here? Why the fuck did he show up almost every day. Why did he make sure Tommy ate, and he slept? Why the fuck did he still come here to take his shit, or to just fucking speak to him? Why wouldn’t he let Tommy go.

Jaw trembling, he looked up at Dream as he spoke, the same desperate smile still plastered on his face. But there were no dimples like there normally was when Dream smiled at him, there was no toothy grin or rolling of the eyes. Just sheer panic. Tommy fucking hated it.

“Why don’t we make the best of it until people do show up, yeah? We can prepare more, maybe?”

He ignored Dream. He wasn’t important enough for Dream to try and smile for. Wasn’t important enough for Dream to care.

“But they said they’d be here- I’m sure they said they’d be here by…” He shook his head, words failing him as images flashed horribly through his mind. He thought about Tubbo and Phil and Quackity and Ranboo until their faces became distorted, monsters in his head.

“I thought I was late,” Dream admitted, clearly uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. “So I’m surprised everyone’s not already here.”

“Wilbur was in charge of the invitations.” Tommy said, words stale in his mouth. His whole mouth felt dry, barren and unfamiliar. So did his whole body, like he wasn’t really standing on the beach. Barefoot against the sand, body freezing aching as he stood beside Dream. Dream, whose warmth Tommy could practically feel rippling off of him.

“Yeah, the invitation said noon,” Dream said softly. Tommy nodded, even though he didn’t know why he was nodding. He didn’t even know why he was standing here, on this beach, on this land. Why he was standing at all. Glancing up at the sky, he watched as the sun hang in the blue expanse. It was bright, sending sharp rays of gold wandering across the beach. Dancing alongside Dream’s shadow as he leaned against the table. As Tommy stood, feeling more like he was being propped up by an invisible string tied tightly around his neck than his own strength.

It was that kind of sunny where it hurt. Where the complete lack of clouds meant there was no blanket protecting the sky, leaving the world an open wound, ready and waiting for the cold wind to slice through.

God. Maybe everyone would’ve come if he hadn’t set up a fucking beach party a couple of weeks after Christmas. What a fucking idiot. It was his fault. How had he not realised before? Fuck, he was so stupid. He used to have Tubbo, or Wilbur to catch his mistakes like this. But now…now he was alone, and he was free to fuck up as many times as he could.

“You made cake?” Dream’s soft drawl cut him out of his own head, and he turned, glancing over his shoulder to see the blond sitting on the edge of the table, plate of cake in hand.

“I guess,” he shrugged as he walked over to Dream, wrapping his arms around himself as the sand cut into the soles of his feet. “Ay,” the older man cheered, the first genuine smile creeping up onto his face. Tommy wanted to fucking cry. He wanted to fucking die. “Tastes great, man. Have a slice,” he offered, holding the plate out as the fork making its way to his mouth paused midway, Dream’s eyes narrowing in on Tommy.

He shook his head, dismissing it easily before his desperation took over. “I’m not hungry. Dream, no one’s here.”

“I know,” Dream answered honestly, the saccharine gone from his voice. He had clearly realised skirting around the issue with kindness wasn’t working. Shrugging, the blond pat the space next to him, pushing his tongue into his cheek as Tommy wordlessly hopped up onto the table with him, long, skinny, pale legs pathetically swinging.

“I’m surprised Tubbo’s not here.”

“Tubbo ignored my fucking party,” Tommy breathed angrily, lungs feeling too tight across his ribs, which felt like they were somehow snapping in his body. “Why is no one here? Why did they not come, Dream?” He demanded as the tears he’d been supressing for minutes, hours, two fucking months started streaming. “This is my fucking party. I thought they were going to be here. Everyone knows. Wilbur told Tubbo. He told him in person? Did you see?”

“Yeah,” Dream breathed, green eyes dropping down to the discarded plate on his lap. “I was there when he told them. I mean, for most of the other people, he left the invitations in their letterboxes, and they might’ve maybe missed it?” He looked at Tommy, shaking his head soberly, like he was the person tasked with delivering Tommy the news of a passing, of a disappearance, a murder. “But Tubbo, I mean…”

“You’re the only one who…” he trailed off to laugh through the tears that clung to his jaw. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, still laughing as he grinned manically back up at Dream. “It’s just you.”

“I mean I was late.”

Another laugh. It was unrecognisable. It felt cold in his throat, unfamiliar. “ _And you were late._ ”

“I tried to get here on time. I figured you’d care the least if I was here,” Dream replied honestly, licking icing off of his fingers as he shrugged.

“No one cares about me anymore,” Tommy breathed, both laughter and crying subsiding.

“That’s not true.” But he wasn’t looking at Dream anymore. He dropped down from the table, sand burning against his skin. He dug his fingers into his hair, as if he could claw apart his own skull if he tried hard enough.

“No one gives a fuck.”

“Tommy.” Dream’s voice was too quiet in his ears.

“No one cares about me. No one cares, do they?” he hissed, spinning on his heels as he backed away, screaming at Dream, who was watching Tommy cautiously, arms outstretched. “No one showed up to my party. And I…it’s the one thing, the one thing they could’ve done for me, after exiling me and fucking me over.” His words came out more bitter than he meant, angrier and more hurt and pained than he had realised he really was.

“And not one of them came.” His voice was breaking now, and he didn’t even realise he was crying again until it caught his words, trying to supress the rageful, hateful, violent thoughts screaming through his head. “And not one of them cares about me anymore. Cause I’m not in L’Manberg anymore, because I’m not the vice president. I fucking get it, right Dream? I get how all this works.”

He was subconsciously aware of Dream saying his name, of concerned green eyes, of panic seizing the other man. But all he could focus on was the pain in his chest, burning and glacial at the same time. Absolutely destroying him.

“I’ve got no power anymore,” he sobbed out as Dream gripped his arms lightly, shaking his head and crouching down slightly so they were eye-level. His voice, his words, his cries were ugly and painful and mortifying, but he just didn’t know what to do anymore. He had nothing. He had nothing and no one. And his only fucking friend was the man who had put him here. And he had been planning to fight back eventually, to try and get home. But did he even have a home anymore? Did he even want to fight Dream anymore? When he was the only one here? He was the only one here.

“And so, everyone’s fucking left me,” he hissed out as Dream stood up, realising Tommy wasn’t listening to him. He paused when Dream pulled him to his chest, wrapping one arm around Tommy’s back, the other patting his head, long fingers carding through matted hair.

“No one cares,” he finished, sobbing into Dream’s hoodie as he fisted the fabric, shaking horribly. He didn’t protest when Dream lowered him to the ground, the sand shifting when he fell to his knees, dropping into Dream’s chest, body limp, arms fallen to his sides. Dream didn’t speak, and neither did Tommy. Dream just ran fingers along the bottom of Tommy’s head, and Tommy just sobbed, before the wracked sobs turned into frustrated, guttural screams that ripped through his throat. Before that turned to heavy breathing, body trembling in Dream’s hold.

Once he had gathered his thoughts, and he could breathe without feeling a burning feeling in his chest, he pushed himself away. Dream let him, but he hesitated slightly, taking a minute to unclasp his arms from around Tommy.

“What do you think about this then?” He asked Dream as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, ignoring the pity on the other man’s face, ignoring the fucking worry and apprehension. He didn’t need fucking pity. And even though he was so, so fucked up in the head and lonely and cold, Dream had never pitied him. Not once.

He was the only one who’d ever seen him as an equal. When Wilbur had seen him as a kid needing protecting, or when he’d seen him as a brother stepping in his way, trying to foil his plans. When Technoblade had seen him as a naïve child who didn’t understand. When Tubbo had seen him as selfish, irresponsible and a liability. They’d all seen him as lesser.

_“_ _There is a reason you are not the president and you never will be.”_

_“No. Techno won. Dream won. You got injured, like you always do, Tommy. Stop forcing everyone to look after you. If you want to start petty, meaningless fights, you can finish them yourself, alright?”_

_“Tommy, you just had a coup! A hostile government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as president and then you gave it to your friend!”_

_“If you want to be a hero, Tommy, then die like one!”_

_“Dream, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the best thing to do to have Tommy exiled.”_

But Dream never had. Even though he had tried to kill him more times than Tommy was pretty sure he had fingers anymore, he had never treated him like the people he had called his brothers had.

So, he didn’t need his pity. He needed his opinion.

Dream cleared his throat uncomfortably, digging his long fingers through the sand they were sitting on, avoiding Tommy’s eyes. “Well, I mean…” He trailed off when Tommy gripped his hand, praying that Dream saw the silent plea on his face. And when Dream sighed, shaking his head before he tugged a strand of unwashed hair behind Tommy’s ear, he knew he had. He would be honest. He would tell Tommy the truth, unlike everyone else.

“I kind of thought you and Tubbo weren’t friends anymore, Tommy.”

Confusion was the first thing to hit him, so he tried to focus on that, tried to take it step by step. Tried to ignore the lingering agony he felt, the terrifying feeling of suffocating on his loneliness. He was chained here, breathing just a little every minute, and he was calling it a life.

He was broken and unfixable, and his family had finally realised that. But Dream was broken and unfixable too. And his family, George, Sapnap, maybe even Sam at this point, had abandoned him too. Sometimes he spoke about it to Tommy. About how much he missed George he couldn’t move, about how Sapnap’s absence made him feel like he’d died.

So maybe they could be broken and unfixable together. Maybe Tommy could have a brother again.

“What? Why would you think that?” he asked, voice bordering on begging.

“Well,” Dream started, tentative, uncertain. “He hasn’t visited you at all, and I mean, he burned your compass-”

“He what?”

“He lost it or something like that. He doesn’t have it anymore.” Dream wasn’t looking at him again, mossy eyes firmly trained on the horizon. Maybe he wanted to leave. Maybe this whole situation was uncomfortable and awful for him. But Tommy needed to know. And then Dream could leave him here by himself. He just needed to know first.

“The compass from Wilbur?” he whispered, slightly terrified of Dream’s reaction. He had never told him about the compass, and now it was burning a hole in his pocket. It was the one thing he’d hidden, tried to keep away from green eyes and a plentiful supply of tnt.

“Yeah,” Dream hummed, and his eyes slid down to meet Tommy’s. He didn’t look particularly angry, but Tommy was too far gone to try and even figure out what was written on Dream’s scarred face. “The compass from Wilbur.”

Anger rippled through his chest. He tugged his compass out from his pocket, stumbling slightly as he tried to push himself up onto his feet. “Fine, if that’s how it is now,” he shrugged, fingers tightening on the metal, throat bobbing. “And you’re sure, you’re sure _someone_ got an invite?”

Dream stood up as well, brushing himself down and tilting his head down at Tommy before he nodded, “Wilbur told me he gave it to all your friends, and I was there when he told Tubbo.”

Right. Okay. Fuck that. Absolutely fuck that. If Tubbo wanted to leave him here to die, then that was fine by Tommy. Since when had he fucking needed anyone anyway. He was Tommy Innit. He didn’t need shit from anyone. He had himself, and he guessed he had Dream, and that was all he needed.

“Fuck this, fuck this,” he hissed under his breath as he took off in a sprint. Dream called his name, telling him to stop. His feet burned, scarping against the ground as he leapt up from the beach and the shore and the sand and the sea. He ran across the fields that he walked every day since he had nothing else to do. He died a little bit inside when he passed the clump of orange tulips, biting his lip until he tasted metal in his mouth.

He didn’t wait for Dream as he stepped through the portal. Choking out steam and sobs and blood as he stumbled into the Nether. He peered over the edge of the red cliff, letting out a scream as he held his fist out over.

“Why don’t you sleep on it, Tommy.” He flinched at Dream’s voice, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t look at him as he shook his head firmly, unable to speak for the emotion trapped in his throat. He wanted to let go so badly. He should let go. Tubbo didn’t care about him anymore. Would be a wonder if he ever had. You don’t leave the people you care about. You don’t force them out of their home, force them into isolation. Ignore them.

You don’t leave them.

But he just couldn’t. His fingers wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let go of the stupid fucking compass his dead fucking brother had made for him to keep him connected with his stupid fucking ex best friend. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. He couldn’t let go.

Tubbo could let go of him. But he couldn’t let go of Tubbo.

God, he was so pathetic.

“Sleep on it,” Dream said softly, as he lightly urged Tommy away from the cliffside. He let him. “Don’t do anything you can’t take back without thinking about it,” he said, even as they stepped through the portal together. Dream didn’t let go off him until they reached his tent. And when he did, he kept glancing up at Tommy as he set up his bed even though it was only midday, making sure he hadn’t somehow vanished.

Tommy only spoke once he had ended up on the ground, somehow bundled up in more blankets than he remembered having. His teeth were chattering so hard he thought that maybe they would shatter. He glanced up at Dream who was sitting against his chest, fiddling with a knife as he looked outside, face tense and brows lowered.

He let the blankets drown him as he looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Maybe Dream would kill him tonight. Finally let him go.

Nestling in deeper, he buried his face in the warmth, turning away from Dream. He was having visions again. Like he used to get when he was living in Pogtopia, with his brother and his slowly declining mental health, and a pig hybrid who refused to speak to him, and with Tubbo dying from said pig hybrid.

Back then, he’d seen visions of swords and death as he’d been awake, as he’d walked around. Now, he saw visions of Tubbo, behind trees, sitting beside him, smiling. He knew he was fucked up. But sometimes, sometimes, he just wished his fucked-up brain would at least make the imaginary Tubbo speak to him.

“I don’t sleep anymore,” he breathed, and although he heard Dream’s sharp intake of breath, and felt his eyes on the back of his neck, he refused to look at him, screwing his eyes shut. He just kept imagining Dream’s knife in his head until the darkness swept in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the continued support, it literally means the world to me :)


	14. Saw a Piece of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outsider looks in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah sorry it took so long, I wrote this chapter like three times trying to figure out whose pov to do it from

When she had to knock for a third time, Drista let out an annoyed sigh.

To be fair, she was early. But if Dream had really thought she would just hang around at the borders of his lands, which by association were really _her_ lands too, waiting for him to show up - then that was his issue. And it wasn’t like Dream and her hadn’t been doing this fun dance where she did exactly what he specifically told her not to do for a whole fifteen years.

Which is why she wasn’t surprised that when the door finally swung open, Dream didn’t look surprised to see her standing on his doorstep. It had been kind of hard to find him, especially cause the idiot hadn’t told her he’d moved out of that castle in his letters, and the guards’d had to point her in the direction of his house where he apparently lived.

But here she was now, which was what mattered, she guessed. Even if her brother’s brick home was quite small. She elbowed him out of the threshold before he could say anything, a grin jumping onto her mouth when her green eyes fell on another man standing on the bottom step of the staircase, looking very much like he wanted to run back up the stairs.

“Hullo Georgie,” she beamed, cocking her head as George grimaced. “Been a while. Still as short as ever I see.” She’d always liked George. Liked how he read books and made bread and how when Dream or Sapnap were being irritating, he was one of the few people who would bluntly tell them so. She also liked how happy he made her brother, liked how Dream’s smiles would always be looser, easier when he was around George.

But as Dream shut the door behind him with a sigh, a sigh so quiet and defeated, and as George’s dark eyes flicked from her to Dream, cautious and unsure, she was picking up that maybe everything wasn’t as loose and easy as it had been before

“Hey,” he said in welcome, smiling tightly down at Drista. “We weren’t expecting you.”

She hesitated, hearing her brother audibly wince from behind her. _Well_. Someone had clearly fucked up here. And as the person who had clearly fucked up’s sister, she probably should’ve lied. And to be fair, she was a great liar. Unlike Dream, who could barely supress anything on his face, she was a master at the art of the falsehood. But Drista wasn’t one for letting Dream hide from his issues like he preferred to do.

Especially not when it was to do with George. Especially when she didn’t even know why he hadn’t told George she was coming.

“Well, he’s the one who invited me,” she shrugged, jabbing a thumb in Dream’s direction. “First time for everything, right?” she added, voice dripping in sardonic innocence, arching a brow as she turned to face her brother. She used to be hurt, that her brother never once asked her to come see his new home, meet his new friends, only ever came home instead. But then the hurt just fizzled into annoyance, rolling her eyes every time a new letter would come, her name scrawled in familiar handwriting on the envelope.

And no one knew that she kept all of his letters in a neat box, tied with baking string and green ribbon, pushed right under her bed where no one could ever find them.

“I’ve been busy,” Dream hissed, narrowing his eyes, the exact same shade of pale green she had too. He was wearing that same ugly jumper he always wore, had been wearing for years now. Their parents had absolutely hated it. Hated that Dream had refused to wear the neat, expensive clothes that hung limply in his cupboards. She glanced down at her own red pinafore, tugging at her shirt sleeves. Everything she wore was always perfectly pressed, never a hole or loose thread.

“For three years?” she bit back, jutting out her jaw in defiance when Dream’s face softened with guilt. Idiot.

Dream had fought with their parents every day about all that stupid, pointless stuff, before he’d left. Drista picked her battles. She wore the spotless clothes without a complaint, keeping her words for when her parents tried to ship her out to a boarding school across the ocean, or when they would try and tell Dream to not come home. Because unlike some people, she was still stuck in that city, in that house. Not everyone could just run away.

“Whatever,” she said in a sing-song voice when Dream didn’t say anything else, tracing her fingers across the walls as she started to wander through the house. She absentmindedly wondered where Sap was, since the trio were normally always together, but the thought left her mind as soon as she heard hushed whispers.

“Kinda small isn’t it?” she called back to the hall. When she received no answer, no familiar wheeze or annoyed snort, the whispers dead, she glanced over her shoulder, and watched as George and Dream glared at each other, communicating silently somehow, before George noticed her watching them and sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s great to see you again, Drista, but I’ve got shit to do.” Before she could even reply, George was stalking up the stairs, long fingers tight around the banister. It wasn’t until he glanced back down, meeting Dream’s eyes, did she notice the scar across his neck. It was long, snaking across pale skin with laces of silver and pink.

She took an instinctive step backwards, back hitting the wall as her stomach clenched. He must’ve almost died. You didn’t get a scar like that from a measly graze. Someone had tried to kill George. The guy she’d practically known her whole life, the guy who she’d always known as her brother’s person. Someone had tried to kill him.

“What happened to George?” she demanded as soon as he was out of earshot, grabbing onto her brother’s sleeve.

“What?”

“His neck? Who did that to him?” she asked, the knot in her throat only worsening when Dream paled slightly, dropping her gaze.

“Technoblade."

“Technoblade? The guy from the village? He tried to kill _George_? Our George?” Her eyes widened when Dream nodded, tearing his arms out of her grip. “What the hell is going on, Dream?” she hissed as her brother walked into the kitchen, ignoring her questions as he pulled out two mugs from a shelf.

“You know you’re super fucking early right? I wanted to pick you up on the borders exactly so _that_ ,” he gestured with one of the mugs out into the hall, right at the spot where George had been standing. “wouldn’t happen.”

She ignored that, jumping up onto the counter beside Dream as he dropped a teabag into each of the mugs. “Last I heard, George was the King of these lands. Of _your_ lands. You won the war, let that Tubbo guy be President and everything was fine.”

Dream hummed, nodding his head. Blond hair fell into his face. “George isn’t the king anymore,” he finally said, handing her a mug. She held it, but refused to drink from it, locking her eyes onto her big brother’s. “I did win that war, and Tubbo is President of L’Manberg. Nothing else is happening,” he added when he noticed her frown. “You don’t need to worry.”

“So why did you ask me to come?” she breathed as Dream leaned against the counters too, crossing one ankle over the other.

“Can’t I just want to spend time with my little sister? Who I haven’t seen in a year?”

“No,” she answered honestly, placing the mug down and dropping down onto the tiled floor with a light thud. “Because you never once wanted to do that before. Not since you left.” Dream looked back at her with pained eyes, but Drista just folded her arms, refusing to let that work on her. It could work for George, their mother, everyone else under the goddamn sun. But she wouldn’t let her brother use his stupid, childish manipulation on her.

“Alright,” he nodded with a sigh, placing the two mugs into the sink before he crossed the room. “I want you to meet someone,” he admitted, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulder as he led her out of the kitchen. She watched as he shoved his feet into a pair of boots, grabbing his mask from a side table.

It wasn’t until then, as her big brother straightened up, and glance up the stairs with a clouded look over her face, did it really sink into her bone how different he seemed. He looked somehow taller, even though Drista knew that was impossible. His shoulders were definitely broader, he’d lost all the lanky sharpness he’d left with. He used to remind Drista of the wind, loud yet invisible, causing everything else to topple over with impeccable speed and a roaring, wild gracefulness.

But now, a man more scars than flesh, stood before her. Less like her big brother, and more like a warrior, a God, someone untouchable and unfamiliar who wore his face. The face that had been so similar to her’s once. Same green eyes, same tanned skin and freckles licked across their noses, reaching up to their cheeks. But now, his freckles were torn apart by scars, green eyes paled with age that didn’t match up with how long he’d been away for.

And when he put that mask on, the mask fashioned after the one she had made for him years ago, when she’d been little more than a baby, the remanets of her brother disappeared completely.

“ _Who_?” she asked cautiously as he opened the door, holding it for her as she stepped through. She let him take her hand, let the smile fight its way onto her face when he started swinging their arms like an idiot. She let the confusion and worry glaze over her. Because this was Dream, this was her big brother who had slaughtered the dragon and travelled across the world to make a name for himself. This was her big brother who carried her on his back without complaining, who would buy her ice cream when their parents weren’t looking.

It was Dream. Sure, Dream with a few more scars, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t told her there had been wars. She ignored the unsure feeling in her chest, the feeling that had been brewing as soon as she’d seen the tick in George’s jaw, and squeezed her brother’s hand.

“Someone I think you’ll get along with. Someone who needs your help.”

And as he led her down the winding path away from the little brick house, babbling about this cave he’d found, Drista glanced over her shoulder. She saw a silhouette in the top window, George’s head pressed against the glass, face pained as he watched them walk away. He didn’t move when they locked eyes, and he must’ve seen the question plastered on her face, because he just shook his head, throwing her an uneasy smile before he disappeared.

Turns out, Dream thought she’d get along with some kid sitting on a cliffside, knees tucked into a basket, looking out to the sea with glassy, empty eyes.

“Dream,” she hissed as soon as they stepped out of the portal, glancing nervously at the kid off to the side. He hadn’t noticed their arrival yet, and Drista wondered for a second if the guy was deaf or something. He had the same look on his face as Sapnap used to get when Dream and him would sneak home, and the older would profusely try to convince Drista they weren’t high.

“What the hell is happening?” she demanded, gripping onto her brother’s sleeve, not letting him walk away from her in dismissal.

“He’s my friend,” Dream sighed. “And he’s kind of going through it right now, alright? He needs company, but he’s been stuck with me for almost three months now. I thought it would do him some good hanging out with someone his own age. And like I said, I think you’ll like him,” he added with a smirk beneath his mask.

“He’s not my age,” she said, incredulous. The guy had to be at least two years younger than her. He was incredibly thin from what she could see, probably thinner than she was.

“He’s three years older than you,” Dream said casually. Drista’s lips parted in shock, and also slight horror. The guy sitting on the grass, head on his elbows, all awkward lines and gangly limbs was eighteen? That was older than Dream had been when he’d left home. Now fucking way was an eighteen-year-old supposed to look like this.

Before Drista could say anything else, before she could ask Dream why this guy was all the way out here, so far away from everywhere else you had to take trip through the Nether to get here, ask why he was so frail, why he looked like he might crumble if you touched him, her older brother was yanking his arm out of her grasp and tugging her along.

“Tommy!” Drista tried to smile when the blond’s head snapped up, face immediately brightening up when he saw her brother. She felt like the name was familiar, stored away in the back of her mind for some reason, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. She supposed he was just another friend Dream had mentioned in his letters, judging by the way Tommy grinned at the sight of Dream.

He didn’t even appear to notice her until Dream lightly elbowed her in front of him, Tommy’s eyes dropping onto her face as he cocked his head, fluffy blond strands falling in his face. His eyes were so blue. Bluer than Drista had ever seen before. They reminded her of home, of the sun-lit currents, of the mid-winter sky.

“This is my sister, Drista.”

“You have a sister?” Tommy asked, eyes flicking from Drista’s gaze up to her brother. Dream just nodded, and Tommy’s face was distinctly more confused than before. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” she frowned, remembering how shocked the guards at the castle had been when she'd introduced herself.

She crinkled her nose when Dream unclasped his mask, tossing it from hand to hand. She glanced over at Tommy, but he didn’t seem surprised, still watching Drista cautiously, like she might bite him.

“Why haven’t you told any of your friends you have siblings?” she asked, arching a brow. Dream just laughed softly, shrugging as he raked a hand through blond hair.

“Would ruin my whole aesthetic. Can’t have people knowing I care about things, can I?” Tommy laughed at that, a strained, forced and hoarse sound. If Dream noticed it was fake, he didn’t react, just smiled along with the younger boy.

Drista snorted, “Well, that’s kind of pointless when you wander about pathetically pining for George all day.” Dream rolled his eyes, but Tommy, well, Tommy laughed. And the contrast of it compared to the previous chuckle made Drista smile. Tommy had a nice laugh, breathy and loose, raking through his whole body.

“Well, I’ve got things to do so.” Drista and Tommy both looked up at Dream with two very different reactions, but neither positive. “I’ll pick you up later?” he said to Drista, ignoring the two pairs of widened eyes and Drista’s clenched jaw. She wasn’t unsociable, pretty much the opposite, but she didn’t appreciate her brother bringing her here for the first time, seeing him in person for the first time in a year, and then abandoning her with some random guy on a beach.

But Dream had said Tommy was lonely, and Drista found herself gingerly nodding as she glanced over at the other boy. “Sure,” she said, probably a bit too slowly to seem casual. But Tommy didn’t seem to notice, and Dream just grinned down at her, wide and toothy before he made to leave.

“ _Play nice_ ,” he whispered in her ear, handing her a dagger with that look he always shot her way when he left her alone, the look that always meant be safe, don’t be an idiot. And then his long legs were carrying him across the plains, disappearing back into the Nether with a hiss of purple. And then there were two, she grimaced as Tommy eyed her suspiciously. “So,” she said as tried to plaster a smile on her face, spinning the dagger in her fingers. “When do I get the tour?”

“You live like this?” she asked, brows arching as she ran a finger across the canvas tent Tommy led her to. He snorted humourlessly, shrugging when she bent back out of the tent. She wondered why the hell anyone would choose to live here, with a crappy tent and no one to speak to for miles. But Tommy didn’t seem like he would respond well to a question like that, so she just walked up beside him, speaking about idle things to try and quell the stiff air between them.

“It’s cool to live by the sea, right?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to meet Tommy’s blue eyes. After he’d shown her around his very small home - his face darkening when he’d brought her to Logstedshire, paling slightly when she’d commented on the floor of the small house looking undone, and blushing with a shrug when she’d awed at the massive wooden tower looming over the whole plains – they’d wandered silently down to the beach. And it wasn’t a companionable silence you felt between friends, it was awkward and cold, and Drista could tell Tommy wanted to be anywhere but with her.

Needed company her goddamn ass. Dream was full of such shit.

She kicked her boots off when Tommy didn’t respond, just looked at her with that gaze painfully full of emptiness and toed her way down to the shore. Inhaling sharply when the cold waves scratched at her bare feet, she laughed softly.

“When the sun hits the waves,” she said aloud, even though she knew Tommy probably wasn’t even listening to her. “And it goes all glittery, and you just want to jump in, swim through and let the crystals kiss your arms.”

“Even though you know you’d freeze your arse off.” She blinked when Tommy came up beside her, smiling at the way he pronounced the way ass.

“It’s not that cold right now,” she said, gesturing with her head down to his already bare feet. Did the guy not even have shoes? Her heart slipped with pity as she properly took in his clothes for the first time, the way his shirt hung off his shoulders limply, the way his brown trousers were streaked with grass stains and ripped at the seams, fraying at the ankles. If Tommy was Dream’s friend, why was he letting him live like this? Or at least offered him new clothes, materials to build a proper house or something.

Maybe Dream had tried, she told herself as Tommy gingerly stepped out beside her, hissing when the waves hit his feet, before she laughed, and he laughed too. Squealing when the next wave broke against them, Drista gripped onto Tommy’s hand, and started pulling him deeper into the sea.

“My trousers are gonna get wet,” he said with a smile, resisting her attempts to tug on his wrist.

“Didn’t ask,” she shrugged, and when he sighed, shaking his head and looking out to the horizon like he was maybe considering it, Drista pulled as hard as she could. Which, probably, wasn’t the best idea. Because while Tommy fell into the ocean, spluttering and swearing colourfully, which was not the way she would’ve guessed he spoke considering the past hour he’d spent mostly silent, she also fell in. Instead of grumbling like Tommy, when her back hit the ocean, she let out a feral scream, cold washing over her entire body.

“Crap,” she said, spitting out water as she sat up, Tommy beside her. “I didn’t think that through,” she admitted, grinning when Tommy burst out into laughter, clutching his stomach before he let himself flop back into the water, spraying her completely.

Pushing her tongue into her cheek, she hesitated before dropping down beside him, her neat braids floating out behind her. It wasn’t like they weren’t both soaking already anyway. “You know, this is the lightest I’ve felt in a while.” She turned her head, watching as Tommy’s hardened eyes gazed up hazily at the sky. “Sorry, that probably made no sense,” he said quickly, lips pressed together as he glanced at her, eyes searching her face for any understanding. She gave it to him, nodding softly.

“Nah, I get it,” she shrugged, digging her fingers into the sand beneath them.

“It’s just that I’ve barely seen anyone other than Dream for months.”

“But it was Christmas a week ago,” she pointed out with a frown. “You didn’t spend it with anyone?”

“It was?” he breathed, eyes widening slightly before something like acceptance passed over his face. “I guess it was. Did you have a good one?” he added, and she could hear the desperation to change the subject in his voice.

“Not really,” she admitted. “Dream was supposed to come home this year. He didn’t.”

“Oh,” Tommy murmured, but she had changed her attention to the featureless sky above them. “I’m sure he was just busy.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t read the letter he sent home explaining,” she said as she suddenly stood up, too aware of the icy cold snaking its way through her limbs. Water dripped down her face, clinging to her jaw before it returned to the ocean. “I stopped listening to his excuses after the third time he didn’t come home. I love my brother,” she said as she wrapped her arms around herself, waiting for Tommy to stand up too. He did, and she gulped when she realised just how much taller her was than her. She hated it when that happened, when people had to look down at her when she spoke.

“But sometimes he can be a real asshole.”

Tommy looked down at her with parted lips, like he might speak, shaking his head when she met his eyes. His face was painted in something unreadable to Drista, as he suddenly gestured to the hillside where his tent was. “We should try and dry off.”

Two hours of easy chatter and sitting opposite each other, Tommy’s campfire in between them roaring, later, Drista stood up, shaking out her hair. She’d unbraided it so it would dry better, but now it was just doing that annoying thing where it went all wavy and unruly. “No offence, Tommy, but your house sucks.”

Tommy didn’t move, grinning up at her from where he was still warming up, arms wrapped around his knees. “And what do you want me to do about that, Drista?” he asked, arching a brow as he cocked his head like a puppy, damp hair darker than it had been before.

“Come with me somewhere else,” she said, holding a hand up in the direction of the portal Dream had brought her through. Tommy’s smile dropped instantly, staring blankly into the flames. “I can’t leave.”

“What are you talking about?” she sighed, folding her arms. “Of course, you can leave.”

“I can’t.” She flinched at his tone, harsh and dismissive and cold. Pressing her lips firmly together as she folded her arms close to her chest, she debated going alone. Tommy clearly didn’t care if she stayed here, clearly didn’t want her here in the first place. And she didn’t want to be here either. She’d stayed out of pity for the boy, stayed because her brother had asked her to.

But then when she looked back down at Tommy, as he shivered in front of the fire, jaw locked in a pathetic attempt to deny her. As if she was just a fifteen-year-old girl who even though he looked like he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days, could probably still take her on.

Drista scowled and stomped her foot on the ground. Tommy looked up at her, then at her boot, then back at her with a disbelieving expression. “Did you just stamp your fucking foot on the ground like a child?”

“I am a child,” she hissed back, sticking her tongue out at him. Tommy just blinked, like he didn’t really understand what was happening. She ran a finger across the corduroy that her pinafore was made out of. Her mother had handed it to her, saying how she would want to be presentable when her brother presented her to his friends, his partners, the royalty that reigned over his lands. She hadn’t argued, just wordlessly rolling her eyes and nodding, taking the dress out of her mother’s hands.

But this was a battle Drista was going to fight. And if she had to scream and stop her foot so Tommy would go just to shut her up, then so be it.

“You’re coming with me.”

“You don’t get it,” he sighed, rubbing tired, lean hands across his face. “I’m literally not allowed to leave.”

“Says who?”

A pause. Tommy’s blue eyes flicked up to meet hers, biting his bottom lip. Anxiety was contorting his face, before he dropped her gaze, returning to the flames. “Your brother,” he breathed, voice cracking, as if he was terrified to even say it out loud.

Drista’s brows furrowed. Why would Dream forbid Tommy from leaving? He hadn’t even mentioned that. She raked fingers through her hair as she thought it through, shaking the damp knots out. Why would Dream not tell her that? Was Tommy dangerous? No, he couldn’t be, or else he wouldn’t have left her alone with him. Her fingers absentmindedly drifted back down to the dagger strapped to her arm.

No, Tommy wasn’t dangerous. The guy was a stick anyway, and Drista knew how to throw a fist. And he didn’t seem like he’d want to hurt anyone anyway. So why the hell was he not allowed to leave. She supposed it made sense, taking the tent and the ruined clothes into account. But then why had Dream brought her here?

As she looked down at him, she shook her head. Tommy arched a brow up at her, tilting his head to the side. “Well, Dream’s not here, is he?” she said, emphasising her point by looking around with a slowly growing grin.

“I can’t,” Tommy said shakily, “I don’t want to upset him.”

“Well,” Drista started as she tugged him to his feet, to which he let her do with little resistance. “You’re upsetting me. And I’m his sister, so when he’s not here, I reckon I’m in charge. And I reckon you’re going to come with me.”

He let her silently pull him along to the portal, which he stepped over without any sign of hesitation. It wasn’t until they reached the portal to the mainland did Tommy pause.

“C’mon,” she said, shifting from foot to foot as she waited for him. The horrible purple mist slithered its way across her skin, leaving invisible burns up and down her arms.

“I really don’t think I should-” An annoyed sigh left her lips before she reached out and grasped onto Tommy’s shoulders. She had to go on her toes since the guy was almost a foot taller than her. God, did this boy even move on his own.

“Tommy,” she said, widening her eyes as she gritted her teeth. “Nothing’s going to happen. Dream’s not gonna do anything. I’m his sister, alright? If he’s got an issue with it, he can come to me. You’re gonna be fine.” She didn’t move until he nodded, tentatively, shyly, blue eyes darting around them like they were breaking the law. When she dropped her hold on his shoulders, he stepped forward, breathing in shakily, bare feet stepping up into the portal.

She stayed where she was, watching with a smile on her face as he spun around, fingers tracing the black stone in wonder, as the purple spun around his waist, sparkling in the reflection of his eyes. And when Tommy finally smiled, eyes crinkling, and extended a hand out to her, she grasped onto it, and let him pull her through the portal with a squeal.

When they stumbled through, Tommy still gripping her hand, they were met by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Tommy completely froze, terror gripping him, and Drista elbowed him behind her, tilting her head up at the blond man who stood in front of them.

He didn’t even acknowledge her, raising his brows at Tommy before he clicked his tongue. “You’re not supposed to be here, Tommy.” The other boy couldn’t even respond, all that managed to come out of his mouth was a weak croak, and Drista could practically feel him shaking behind her.

“Who asked you?” she said, smirking when the man’s eyes finally slid onto her.

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” he asked, face painted in annoyance. She tried her best to ignore the netherite sword that was now pointing right at her chest, letting fake confidence paint her voice as she copied the face she’d seen Dream pull a million times in her life.

“Drista,” she ground out. “I’m Dream’s sister. And I say Tommy can visit.”

“Dream’s sister?” the man breathed out in shock, more to himself than her, but she snarled in response anyway.

“Yes, Dream’s sister. Now, if you’ll excuse us-” She tried to walk forward, reaching behind her to hold onto Tommy, but the man’s sword was now pressed against her throat. Her eyes snapped up to meet his as he shook his head.

“Dream’s never mentioned having a sister.”

“And why would he mention it to you?” The man didn’t respond, narrowing his eyes at her as the sword dug in a little more. Not enough to draw blood, but the image of the white scar snaking its way across George’s skin flashed into her mind. “If you want to go fetch him to check, that’s fine by me. But he’ll be pissed off when he has to come all the way here to confirm it.”

The man still said nothing but worry flashed over his face for a second. He still didn’t remove the blade pressed against her skin. “Look at her, Punz.” Her breathing hitched when Tommy spoke up, voice calm and steady. “She looks exactly like him. I know you’ve seen his face. She’s not lying. Look at her.”

And he did, blue eyes scanning over her face. She saw as it dawned on him, his eyes taking in the green eyes, the freckles, the hair lighter than Dream’s, but with the same ashy roots. The sword left her throat instantly, and she couldn’t help the exhale of breath leave her body. She hadn’t even realised she’d been holding her breath.

“You get one hour,” Punz said to Tommy, sheathing his sword with a frown. “And I’m uh-I’m sorry,” his voice called after Tommy and Drista as they started walking away, steps stiff. She glanced back at him with a scowl and Punz winced. “About the whole sword to the neck thing.”

She just flipped him off, smirking when Tommy barked out a laugh, and they started running down a wooden path, each step thudding and each breath getting looser, easier.

“You really do look like him, you know?” Tommy said after twenty minutes of showing her around, pointing out places he’d done stupid things, grinning widely when she laughed.

“No shit,” she nodded, as they paused on a bridge. “He _is_ my older brother.” She jumped up onto the railing, reaching down even though the water was far, far, far below them. Tommy came up beside her, the same height even as his feet stayed firmly rooted on the ground.

“You look like how he did, before everything,” Tommy whispered, and her arm paused in the air, falling to her side as the silence wrapped around them. She didn’t press him, didn’t dare ask what that meant. What constituted _everything_. She started to realise that Dream had probably lied to her, when he said nothing was happening. Because it seemed like everything was crumbling away from everyone here. But she found that she didn’t want to know how Dream was involved, how Tommy was involved.

She just wanted to breathe.

“Did you see that?” She frowned as she turned towards Tommy, who had wandered over to the edge of the bridge, one foot back on the wooden path, the other still on the bridge, like there was something stopping him from moving.

“See what?” she asked gently as she leapt down from the iron railing, coming up to stand beside Tommy. She glanced around their surroundings, but all she could see was the wooden path continuing to wind its way into the horizon, and a collection of disordered, clashing, colourful homes and stores. There was a florist that looked closed, bunches of wildflowers and pretty arrangements of daises and lavender outside on display.

“Tommy?” she asked when she turned back to him, frowning as he fisted his hands into his hair, eyes wide with distress. “What did you see?” she asked plainly, not wanting to annoy or patronise him.

“I thought I saw Tubbo,” he breathed, and while she was pretty sure it was more to himself than her, the name rang around her head. Tubbo was the President of L’Manberg. Was Tommy originally from here? How did he know Tubbo?

“It doesn’t matter,” Tommy said, voice breaking off at the end. “It wasn’t real. I just-let’s go,” he said, taking long steps before Drista could even say anything else. He showed her around town, and around Dream’s lands, which were mostly just fields of orange flowers and birch forests that animals made their homes in.

Drista thought it suit her brother.

Funnily enough, Tommy didn’t mention anything about L’Manberg, and they never walked past a city large enough for her to figure out where the city her brother had gone to war over actually was. Before she’d even had enough time to fully drink it in, the beautiful rolling meadows and tall, looming forests her brother had been living in, had been refusing to show her, Tommy was glancing at his watch.

“I’m sure we can stay for longer,” she pouted as she continued to weave flowers into Tommy’s matted hair. He’d protested vigorously at first, waving her grabbing hands off, but when she’d frowned, willing her eyes to go all soft, he caved.

“No. Punz said an hour.”

“Like I care what Punz said,” she snorted. It was only when Tommy caught her wrist, and shook his head at her, did she realise he was being serious.

“ _I_ care what Punz said,” he told her, blue eyes swirling with emotions she couldn’t quite catch. She wanted to know why Tommy was so quick to panic. Why he froze at the sight of a weapon, why he was so adamantly against breaking any of the obscene rules people lay out for him. But she couldn’t find it in herself to ask.

“But Tommy-”

“Look, Drista, I’m not Dream’s sister, okay? I can’t just pout and bat my eyelashes and have everyone bend their fucking knee for me, alright? The worst consequences for you would be having to deal with a pissy Dream, the only consequence for me is they fucking kill me, okay? They’ll fucking kill me.”

He was breathing heavily, face flushed, when he finally finished spewing his words all over them both. Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded slowly, standing up and brushing the stray grass from her dress. “Okay,” she said with a tight smile, tucking one last flower behind his ear. “We can go.”

The rest of the day was spent mostly in silence, and Drista was terrified that she’d ruined it all. She’d finally pushed him too far, pushed the broken boy in front of her to ruin. She’d been so determined to try and break him out of his silence, his sombreness, she’d done the opposite of what she’d wanted.

She stood up from the campsite as soon as Dream stepped over the portal. Clearing her throat so Tommy would notice, she nodded in acknowledgment when he looked up at her, then to Dream, and then back to her. She didn’t really know what she was acknowledging, him, her, the day they’d spent in unknown territory, the end of the day. It all made her head blur.

“Well, I’ll see you around then,” she smiled, sticking her hand out as Tommy stood up slowly. Dream was waiting by the portal, leaning against the black stone, one ankle tossed over the other as he tipped his head to the side, purposefully not looking at them.

Her stomach clenched when Tommy didn’t say anything, and she wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. But then she was being pulled into a tight hug, face buried in a chest that was wearing a still slightly damp shirt. She let loose a breath as she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around Tommy’s neck.

“I had fun today,” he said into her hair, voice muffled and distorted in her ears.

“Me too.” She kept her hands on his shoulders when they pulled back, scared that if she let him go, the wraith of a boy in front of her would disappear into the sea again, not getting up this time. “You’re a cool guy, Tommy.”

“Wish I could say the same about you, Drista.”

“Idiot,” she retorted, rolling her eyes, both they were both smiling, soft and warm. Her hands fell from his shoulders, and she was surprised at how cold they felt as they swung at her sides. She clasped them behind her back, rolling on the heels of her feet.

“Do you think-do you think you might come back?” he asked, eyes trained on the ground.

“Yes,” she replied instantly, without even thinking. Dream hadn’t asked her to visit in three years. Who knew if he would ever ask her again? Who knew if she would ever get the chance to see Tommy again?

But his face lit up, dimples crinkling as he sighed with what she thought must be relief. Guilt tightened in her chest, but she tried to push it down as she took a step backwards, away from the shore, away from the canvas tent, away from Tommy.

“I’ll come back,” she breathed, as if the wind might carry away her lie before it met Tommy’s ears.

“Well, I’ll see you then, then,” Tommy nodded, awkward toothy grin still on his face.

“I’ll see you then,” she nodded back, blonde hair brushing against her neck. He waved at her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to wave back, turning on her heels and practically running back to her brother. She watched as Dream waved to Tommy, who had already turned back to face the shore, dropping down to his knees.

They were leaving him in the exact same position they’d found him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for clarification in case anyone was wondering, Tommy is eighteen because he was sixteen in the first fic of this series, and in my head the events of the sap have taken place over a couple of years
> 
> thanks for the continued support guys! :D


	15. Retirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our favourite anarchist man is back

“So, Dream came by mine the other day.”

Techno hummed in acknowledgment at Phil’s statement, too concerned with his pounding headache to really even care what his friend was saying. They were sitting in Technoblade’s house, in his dining room, on his chairs eating dinner. It was weird, living alone again. He hadn’t lived alone since he was thirteen, more than ten years ago.

He didn’t think he liked it very much.

He’d always been alone. Just him and the screaming voices in his head he’d barely managed to suppress for years. He’d travel for weeks, months, just him and the voices and his steel. But he would always go home to Phil and Will. Would always find his way back to their house with the warm fireplace and the wooden, scratched to hell counters in the kitchen that Techno liked to sit on and Will’s bed which he would eventually find himself in because his bedroom was always too cold.

But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter.

Everyone wanted him dead. Apart from Phil, but still. He hadn’t even wanted to stay in these fucking lands anyway. What was the point, without Wilbur? There was nothing left for him here. But Phil hadn’t even mentioned going home. Back to the fireplaces and counters. And the empty beds. Maybe that was why Phil didn’t want to go back to the town by the sea. Because of that empty bed. The discarded guitars collecting dust.

He glanced out the window as he aimlessly moved his fork around his plate, ears flattening against his head as his eyes dropped onto the headstone outside. It was too far away to actually see, he’d made sure to bury his friend far away enough he wouldn’t have to cross by every time he wanted to go outside, but he knew exactly where it was.

He supposed he couldn’t leave. Not when his brother was buried here, damned to stay in these lands forever. And Techno supposed he couldn’t leave him here alone.

“He said he wanted to meet you.”

He glanced up at that, meeting green eyes that were watching him cautiously. Snorting, he just shrugged, dropping his fork onto the plate with a clatter. “The guy tricked me,” Techno scowled, folding his arms as he leaned back into the chair.

“Techno-”

“He knew what Will was plannin' to do, and he didn’t tell me,” he got out through gritted teeth. The simmering voices in his head got louder. God, Techno fucking hated the voices. The voices he’d managed to successfully get rid of for ten years, only for them to burst back into his head as soon as Wilbur’s body hit the ground, screaming and blazing and thirst for blood.

_You should see what he has to say. **He did trick us, kill him, kill him**. If we kill him, we can be free, we don’t have to stay in this house, locked up, chained up. **Blood for the Blood God, kill the green bastard.** Hear him out, hear him out._

“We could’ve worked together,” he said, rubbing at his temples as Phil frowned down at him. “If we had, maybe what happened to Will-maybe that wouldn’t have happened.”

“Techno, Will was too far gone,” Phil said, pushing his own plate aside. “You know that.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, guilt unfurling when Phil’s face fell, green eyes dropping to the surface of the table. “I’m not meetin' him. And you should be more careful,” he added as he stood up, chair legs scraping against the wooden floors. He dropped the plate into the sink, turning the water on before he turned back to face Phil, leaning back against the counters. “I’m not surprised that little freak knows you know where I am, but if the others find out-”

Phil cut him off as he stood up, wiping his own plate down and grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair. “I’ll be alright, mate. It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you. Alone out here all by yourself.”

He barked out a laugh, strands of unplaited hair falling into his face as he shook his head. “I like being alone,” he said with a smile he prayed Phil wouldn’t see right through. “You know I do. Just me and the wilderness. I was around people for too long anyway. At least out here, I don’t have to hear Tommy’s whinin' every day.”

_Liar. **You abandoned Tommy anyway. You know how much he loved, admired Wilbur, and you left.** Exiled child. **Blood for the blood god.** Liar, you’re lonely. **Lying to Phil.**_

Phil thankfully just hummed thoughtfully, clapping Techno on the shoulder before he started off towards the front door. “In case you change your mind, he said you’d know where to meet him. He said he’d be there whenever you decided to go,” he shrugged as Techno stayed where he was, the slow, rhythmic droplets coming from the tap making him want to punch the wall for some reason. He hid his fist behind his back.

“I’m not gonna change my mind.”

“Alright,” Phil shrugged, tugging his hat over his head. “Not any skin off my back. I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Yep. I’ll be ‘ere. Like always,” he added with a sigh once Phil left with a soft, familiar smile, the door clicking shut behind him. He turned back to the sink with a scowl, turning the tap off and telling himself he’d do the dishes tomorrow. He just wrapped his cloak tightly around himself as he stalked up to his bedroom, blowing out the candles on his way.

It was a new cloak, blue and trimmed with fur in a futile attempt to keep out the cold. He probably should’ve coated the whole thing in fur, and maybe added some sort of hood since every time he dared step outside his ears started trembling. But he was never one to forsake a fashion statement for practicality, as much as he liked to pride himself on his logical thinking, he had a begrudging love for theatrics. And, he thought to himself as he swished his navy cloak from side to side, it did look pretty fucking cool.

As he sat by the window in his room, up in the attic of his house, he watched the onslaught of falling snow assault the tundra. For someone who’s ancestry clearly came from the Nether, he’d always found himself drawn to the cold. Maybe it was some crappy, inward attempt to reject his blood, reject the parents he’d never known. He brought his legs to his chest, his hair fanning out behind him, falling like a curtain as he dropped his head onto his knees.

He already missed Phil. Sometimes, he debated asking Phil to move out here with him. He knew the older man would, if he asked. Knew Phil would probably do anything if Techno asked him to. But that would be selfish. Phil was staying in L’Manberg to look over Tubbo and Fundy and the rest of the bumbling idiots who were attempting to run a government separate from Dream. Like they could ever be out of the man’s grasp.

Licking at his tusks, Techno dropped his head against the glass. He actually hadn’t heard much about Dream recently. The man seemed to be laying low, if Phil had nothing to report back to Techno on his weekly visits.

_“Tubbo’s only just found out that Sapnap and Karl have been hiding out in Quackity’s house,” Phil laughed as Techno rolled his eyes into his glass of ale. “Even though the three of them are up to god knows when in the early hours screaming songs and laughing. I don’t understand how the whole city can’t hear them.”_

_“Well, you do live next door to 'em,” Techno reasoned, when his brows flew up. “Wait, hasn’t that been happenin' for months?”_

_“Yep, but they managed to keep it from Tubbo somehow. He found out at the town meeting. Sapnap went to claim that Dream’s kidnapped George or some shit.”_

_“Kidnapped George? The man in 'is late twenties who’s a trained soldier? The man Dream’s sleepin' with, and has been hopelessly in love with for years? They think he's been_ kidnapped _by_ Dream _?”_

_“Apparently,” Phil shrugged, raking a hand through his own hair as he watched Techno try to braid his own, nursing his glass between his legs. “Was a big fight about it. Could hear it from outside the building. Sapnap called Tubbo a coward for exiling Tommy.”_

_Technoblade mused in thought, fingers pausing in his hair. “How's Tommy?” He didn’t really want to ask, still unsure of his own feelings towards the boy, but something in him felt like dying when Phil mentioned his name._

_“I wouldn’t know,” Phil admitted, and for a moment, his face clouded over, eyes flickering up, lost in thought. Techno let him think in peace, going back to tugging at his own hair before Phil looked up with a frown._

_“I’m pretty sure Ranboo’s been speaking to him, but no one else has had contact with him, now that I think about it. Dream said he’s seen him a few times, and that he’s doing good, built a house with a farm apparently.”_

_Techno snorted at the idea of Tommy doing anything for himself, but let Phil continue. The older man bit his bottom lip as he stared into his own glass, swirling it around, the liquid kissing the sides. “Maybe I should go and see him. I know Ghostbur’s not been back in a while.”_

_He nodded wordlessly before changing the conversation smoothly. He’d never met Ghostbur, but he didn’t like thinking about it. From the way Phil described him, described the thing that took on his brother’s appearance, his voice, Techno shuddered. As much as the voices seemed desperate to meet him, he had no desire to. And he didn’t want to talk about it. And Tommy was alive anyway, and that was all he really needed to know about the boy._

That was the last time Phil had mentioned Dream. The snow started dropping onto the glass pane, dripping slowly down. Dream wasn’t the type to lay low. Especially not when it seemed like he had everything going for him. Tommy exiled for L’Manberg, out of the picture. Tubbo under his tightened fist. George apparently back on his side. So why wasn’t he doing anything? He found it extremely unlikely Dream was doing the same as him, sitting in a house in the middle of nowhere, watching the world move without him in it.

 _See what he has to say._ **_Kill him, kill them all._** _Maybe he has information **. Kill him, he killed Will, ruined your family.** Blood for the Blood God. **He’s planning something**. Ignore him, ignore it all, what did they ever do for you, you don’t owe them anything. **Blood for the Blood God.** Go see him, go do anything, wasting away in this pathetic house. _

“I like this house,” he snarled, not moving his head from where it was resting against the window. The condensation was cool against his flushed skin.

_The house you built in a futile attempt to recreate the home? **The home with Phil, with Wilbur**. Same beams, same fireplaces. **You are never getting that back.** Because Dream took it, he took it, he took it. **Take from him.**_

A snarl escaped from around his tusks as he lightly hit his head against the window. Repeatedly. He knew it wouldn’t shut the voices up, but it pissed them off enough to ignore him for a moment. He didn’t completely hate them; in some fucked way they were better than being completely alone. But the issue with constantly being accompanied with blood-thirsty thoughts wasn’t so much the crippling, guttural need to fulfil their cravings, but more so the fact that he constantly had his own thoughts being shoved in his face.

And he’d started to get used to ignore those dark thoughts, silent and shameful. Had started to like it.

Rubbing the palm of his hand into the side of his head, he pushed himself up from his seat by the window and let himself fall into bed. He’d deal with it in the morning.

And maybe it was because the one wound Techno couldn’t stop picking at was the loneliness that had settled over himself. Maybe it was because he was tasting a constant bitterness in his teeth every day of the week apart from Friday nights when Phil would walk through his door. Maybe it was because he knew there was nothing to go back to, but he still missed it, which was hard to admit in the first place because Techno wasn’t-he didn’t- he wasn’t like Phil, or Will, or even Tommy.

He hung his head as he ran his thumb down his trident. Maybe it was for all of those reasons he was trekking through the lands he was wanted dead on. Or maybe he had just always been secretly intrigued by Dream, ever since the stupid rich prat had used Wilbur, used all of his own friends, to bestow a self-righteous, counterfeit crown on his own head. Intrigued by the way he sauntered around like he genuinely believed he was invincible.

Fingers clenching, and knuckles strangled with white, he spun the trident, lips brushing against his tusks. Or maybe the Blood God had just been kept waiting long enough. And it was time for Techno to do what he did best.

He stood in the same forest he always coincidentally seemed to meet Dream. The same one he’d first seen the man in these lands, the same one where Dream had given him and Wilbur his hidden support, the same one where Techno shook his hand, signing away Tommy’s chance at victory in the last war.

“Hey.” Dream dropped down from the treetops with a whistle, landing in a crouch, head tilted up to look at the other man. He resisted sneering, just tightened his hold on his trident. “Hello Dream,” he said, jaw locking as the blond straightened up, rolling back his shoulders.

“S’ been a while,” Dream mused from behind his mask.

“I suppose it has,” Techno nodded in agreement, his braid falling from his shoulder, swinging in the air. “The last time I saw you, you were holdin' your dying lover in your arms.”

Dream stiffened at that, and Techno grinned, red eyes gleaming as he revelled in the anger he could feel seeping from the other man. He could throw insults, ridicule Dream’s relationship, without it hurting whatever it was that Dream had asked him to come here for. Because he figured he needed Dream a whole lot less than he needed Techno. And pissing him off was so just so rewarding.

“Yes well, you’ll be glad to know he had a speedy recovery,” Dream replied back, tone trying to stay light even as he gritted his teeth. “Wish I could say the same for Wilbur.”

Technoblade moved before Dream could say anything else, breathing heavily as he pressed the trident against tanned skin.

_Spill his blood. **Slit his throat**. Then George’s, do it right this time. **Let him choke on his own blood**. Get Wilbur’s name out of his dammed mouth **. Blood for the Blood God.**_

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Dream said calmly, fingers coming up to push the trident off of him. Techno let him, eyes narrowed and still pinpointed on Dream as the trident was lowered.

“Give me one good reason not to,” he snarled, and as a visceral anger clambered its way up his throat, he slowly remembered why he’d been so opposed to seeing Dream in the first place. “You knew what Wilbur was goin' to do. You betrayed me.”

“Oh, come on now,” Dream scoffed, sliding an arm over Techno’s shoulder. “Let’s not be like that. You’re speaking like you wouldn’t have betrayed me if you had thought about it first. Just admit I was smarter than you. I played both you and your brother. Sometimes you lose Technoblade.”

He scowled, roughly shoving Dream away from him as he spun the trident in his fingers, a steady rhythm in his body aching to stab something. “ _You_ tried to kill George. Wilbur killed himself, okay?”

“I’m assumin' this isn’t why you wanted to meet me,” he said instead, weakly trying to change the subject. Dream bit down on his bottom lip before he shrugged, obviously deciding to entertain Techno and play ball for a bit instead, dropping the insult match as he nodded.

“I’ve got information for you.” When Technoblade didn’t reply, just stood, watching with an arched brow for him to continue, he sighed with a pout. Irritated that Techno wouldn’t entertain his bravado like every single other person did apparently. “There’s a team of bounty hunters after you. And it’s not in my best interest for you to leave the game this early,” he added as he rifled through his jacket, pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment. Lifting his head up to grin at Technoblade, he held it out, waving it twice before Techno snatched it.

“You insult my abilities to take out a team of bounty hunters,” he muttered as he unfolded it, trident under his arm.

“You’d be surprised,” Dream hummed, dropping against a tree as he folded his arms. Eyes widening, Techno ran his fingers over the map Dream had given him. A map to a woodland mansion. Which meant-

“Why are you givin' me this?” he demanded, brows lowered.

“I already told you, it’s not in my best interest-”

Technoblade snarled, and Dream sighed as he found the trident against his neck again. “I’m not playin' any of your fuckin' games,” he breathed as Dream cocked his head at him, blond hair falling over the mask. “I don’t _like_ you.”

“Really?” Dream said, an amused pout on his face. “But I thought we were best friends, Techno.” The sad frown was immediately replaced with a grin as Dream’s leg snapped up, knocking Techno’s trident from his fingers. Before he could grab his sword, he was being pushed up against a tree, a knife kissing his own throat.

Dream pushed his mask up with the hilt of the steel, and Techno rolled his eyes as he refused to meet Dream’s gaze, training his eyes on the man’s smirk instead. “I don’t like you either, Bacon. But I think it’s in both of our interests if we just agree to help each other, right?” When he didn’t respond, tightening his lips into a firm line, Dream sighed, tapping his knuckles condescendingly against Techno’s chin.

“You don’t have to go get the totem. But I never pegged you for a fucking idiot, Technoblade.” He let out an irritated exhale when Dream pulled away, and he was tempted to unsheathe his sword and just ram it through the other man’s torso even as he started to back up.

“So, do we understand each other? Are we clear?”

“Crystal, bastard,” Techno replied, voice low with his usual snark as he glanced over the map once more. “How the hell am I supposed to know that this will actually lead me to the mansion?” he yelled after Dream as the blond took another step back, the dagger spinning in his fingers.

“You won't,” Dream replied back with a shrug, eyes glinting with feral amusement. Techno opened his mouth to retort, when he actually took in Dream’s face. He’d seen it before, a number of times actually. But there was something wrong, something that made Techno take a step back, fumbling for his trident, lying discarded on the forest floor, amongst the crisp, ashen leaves.

Dream’s eyes weren’t green.

Technoblade was pretty goddamn sure Dream’s eyes hadn’t always been two pools of swirling grey, darkening like a storming sky, lying in wait for a storm. Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d had green eyes. Because he’d always thought it was obnoxious that he matched his outfits with his eye colour. Which no longer existed, apparently.

The fuck were the guy’s eyes?

He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to let his face betray the realisation coursing through his body. Temples throbbing painfully, he also tried to ignore the voices as they screamed ruthlessly, as if Dream could hear their insults.

_Demon. **He’s a demon.** Kill the monster. **Something’s happened**. Phil doesn’t know. **Demon.** Kill the demon **. Monster.** Imposter, it might not be Dream. **The real Dream.** Kill the demon for the Blood God._

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, Bacon,” Dream grinned, tipping the mask back over his face. Technoblade didn’t move until he was alone with the voices, dropping back against a tree with a loose, shaky exhale. His fingers tightened across the map in his hands, paper crumbling.

He’d just have to trust him.

Two days later, Technoblade found himself far away from his home, his cape already streaked with wet mud, and his already loose trust in Dream fraying very, very quickly.

His feet landed softly on the red carpet of the mansion, muddy footprints trailing behind him as he began to explore. He stayed on the edge of the ugly fabric, narrowing his eyes as he moved slowly. He hadn’t wanted to bring a torch, less bring attention to himself, but even his eyes were straining in the darkness.

He held his breath as he walked along, the carpet allowing him to move without the floorboards beneath him creaking, ears twitching at every sound. The voices were thankfully absent, and although he could hear their presence, the same soft humming sound that never left the back of his nape, they kept their thoughts to themselves as he moved through the mansion.

There were definitely illagers about, he could hear their thudding steps sounding from all around, but he hadn’t run into any yet. Flexing his fingers over his trident he pushed down the urge to just hunt them down, to feel the satisfying rip of their flesh under his own hand. He hadn’t come here for that. He’d come for their totem, if Dream wasn’t fucking lying. Or at least, whatever the thing claiming to be Dream, wasn’t lying.

He had debated tracking Phil down, telling him what he’d seen. But he would’ve had to sneak into L’Manberg. He would’ve had to break into the city that was being run by people who wanted him dead. The people he was pretty confident had hired the team of bounty hunters Dream had told him about. He would tell Phil when Phil needed to know. As of current circumstances, he didn’t. His friend could continue playing babysitter, and Techno would continue his retirement.

It hadn’t seemed like Dream was more violent or irritating than he had been before anyway. He had actually seemed exactly the same, in all other regards than the gaping pools of nothingness where his eyes had been. And he was still trying to work through all the possibilities of what could be happening anyway. Phil didn’t need to know until Techno had proof of what was really happening. Technoblade could handle it alone. Like he did most things.

Ears pricking up, brushing against his hair he’d scraped back into a bun, Technoblade shut his eyes, let the sounds wash over him. Footsteps. One pair. A single one. His eyes flashed open, and if he had been a better man, a man with morals people could admire, maybe he would’ve been ashamed of the wide grin of pure exhilaration that spread across his face. Well, he wasn’t even really a man anyway.

Moving with the perfect elegance he prided himself on, the elegance people sung songs off, Technoblade rounded the corner. The Vindicator turned; eyes wide for a moment before it charged towards him with the raw ignorance of its species. Techno snarled, reaching for the sword strapped to his back as he flew through the air, the steel falling through the air with a hasty tune.

The Vindicator’s axe scraped against his sword when they met, the thing snarling as it tried to fight back. But it was already crumbling under Techno’s strength, and Technoblade had come with a small armoury on his body. The trident in his other hand was in the creature’s gut before it could even try to disarm him.

When he pulled the weapon out of its body, it slumped pitifully to the floor. The carpet muffled the sound, as well as the thick ichor that was now seeping from its corpse. Techno wiped his trident on the thing’s clothes, frowning when the blood didn’t fully come off. But he pushed forward, with his sword in one hand, trident in the other, and the Blood God now thirsty and begging in his mind.

He climbed a staircase to reach the first floor, his boots now hitting against the cobblestone. Trying not to wince every time he made a sound, he watched as the now dried dirt flaked off of his boots with each step. He cringed when his eyes fell on the fur lining the boots, now speckled with dark blood. Well, that was never coming out.

He knew the floors were always the same in these things, but he’d never actually raided one alone before. Normally he was with a group of mercenaries, sneaking through long endless corridors more like a labyrinth than a mansion as a collective weapon. But now he was alone, him and the voices and the distant sounds of footsteps and grunting.

Squinting slightly, he reached the landing, the light streaming in from the windows now he was above the treeline shining directly on him, dancing happily along his skin. He picked up his pace, trying to ignore the way his fingers were twitching, ignore the way his eyes were trying to defy him, trying to scan for more bodies instead of keeping ahead, looking for the room which should be close by now. He paused at a corner, back against the wall as he dipped his head around. Hair falling from where he’d pinned it up, he sighed with relief as his eyes focused in on the Evoker.

It was a massive room, walls tall and windows long, only letting thin strips of light move through the room. And the Evoker was alone. Technoblade stepped into the room, tusks baring as he aimed his two weapons at the creature.

Who turned to face him angrily, white particles suddenly erupting from his claw-like hands. Techno bit back a snarl, rushing the thing before it could try and use its magic against him. But before he had even crossed the room, a familiar high pitch horn screamed through his ears, and while he winced, ears flattening against his head in pain, he didn’t stop moving.

Three vexes appeared, hovering around the Evoker and hissing right in his direction. They flew right at him, swords glinting in the low light, the sound of flapping wings pounding against his head. Great, so maybe the Evoker wasn’t alone anymore. Gritting down on his teeth, he moved quickly, swinging back with his trident before he rolled to the ground, leaping up behind one of them.

He inhaled as his blade went smoothly through the vex who let out an ear-splitting scream as it writhed in the air. He turned before he pulled the sword out of the dead one, bringing his trident up to meet the other two. Sword slicing up through the dead corpse, it met one of the other vex’s wings as his trident occupied the last.

The vex crumpled to the floor hissing, tears clinging to its jaw as it tried to crawl towards its ruined wings. It didn’t even make it halfway before Techno brought its boot down onto its throat, killing the thing in one stamp before he brought his trident through the last one’s gut, pinning the thing to the wall as he let it bleed out.

He spun on his heels as the Evoker grinned at him, blackened and ruined teeth gleaming up at him. Technoblade lowered his brows, dropping the Evoker’s gaze as he kept his eyes trained furiously on the floor. He might’ve never been into a mansion on his own before, but it didn’t mean he was naïve to the illagers’ tricks. He'd been here before. Had the scars on his right ankle to prove it.

Leaping into the air, he avoided the fangs which ripped through the wooden floorboards, grabbing onto the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The Evoker snarled up at him as the creatures wormed their way back into the floor, but Techno was already swinging, bringing his feet into the Evoker’s face as he dropped back down. Sword singing through the air, Techno decapitated the thing, ignoring the head as it rolled to the other side of the room.

He scrambled over its corpse, searching desperately through the pockets of its robes. A relieved breath escaped his lips when his fingers clasped on a small golden statue. Roughly shoving it in his own pockets, he leapt to his feet, ripping his trident out of the dead vex pinned to the wall before he sprinted back into the corridor.

Hair falling behind him as he ran, he pinned the sword to its spot on his back, a hoarse and tired laugh erupting from his chest as he headed straight for a window at the end of the corridor. Bringing one arm up, he covered his face, listening to the outraged screams of protests of all the illagers chasing after him before he readied his trident.

Glass shattered in all directions, Technoblade finally breathing, finally feeling like he was back in his own skin as he soared through the air, catching himself on a branch with one hand, clutching his trident to his chest with the other. He glanced over his shoulder before he hoisted himself up into the tree, watching as the illagers surrounded the broken window, screaming at him.

Clicking his tongue, he started clambering through the forestry, not sticking around to wait for them to pull out their crossbows. Because although he now had a totem of undying in his possession, he had a feeling he’d need it closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the comments and the kudos! :D


	16. Facing Back to Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts, suicidal intentions

Crouching down, Tommy crawled under the counter in the van Ghostbur had built. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, blond hair curling at the nape of his neck with sweat, he pried open the hidden trap door. And he dropped down into the crappy room he’d caved out for himself.

He dropped the heavy bag from his shoulder, letting it fall with a weighted thud. Well, that was the last of it. The last of the things he cared about. He’d spent the whole day transporting his possessions from where they’d been scattered about, into the new room. The new room that no one knew about.

Bending down onto his knees, he threw one of the chests open, dragging his satchel over and flipping it open. He was careful with the diamonds, burying them at the bottom of the chest. Then his backup swords, sharp and unused. And his scraps of notes, scribbled on pages and letters that Ranboo had sent.

Reaching into his back as he leaned against the chest, he pulled out the last thing. He sighed as his eyes fell on the picture. Two strangers stared back at him. Two children, unsure and slightly terrified but okay because they had each other. Tommy let the picture fall into the chest, tearing his gaze away.

Pushing himself back onto his feet with a wince, he clasped the chest shut. He just needed to know his shit was safe from prying eyes. He just had to figure out what he was going to do with it all. If he was going to do anything.

He clambered back out of the room, latching the trapdoor shut with his foot before he scrambled back into the van. Shaking out the dust and dirt from his hair, he threw the satchel onto the floor. He couldn’t kill Dream. And he also couldn’t leave Dream.

He was his only friend. The only person who cared about him. He made sure he ate, slept. He kept Tommy alive. Even if he didn’t think he really wanted to be alive anymore. Because he just didn’t want to be alone anymore. The loneliness was slowly killing him. And he’d rather die to his own hand than anything else.

But, Dream was alone too. His family had left him too, his brothers, his lover. He was just as alone as Tommy. At least Tommy didn’t have to see the people who had abandoned him like Dream did back home. He couldn’t leave Dream too. Not when everyone else had left him too. But he didn’t know if he could stay here much longer. He didn’t think he had even realised he’d been forming plans in his own head at night, as he swam, as he ate. Not until they all started building up, each thought on top of the other, pressing and pressing and pressing down onto him.

Dropping down onto the stairs of the van, Tommy peered down at his bare feet. They were streaked with dirt and calloused. He didn’t even recognise them. He didn’t really recognise any of himself anymore. And he couldn’t tell if it was his crappy, fucked up mind playing tricks on him, when he looked into the ocean and genuinely didn’t recognise the pale, gaunt wraithlike thing blinking back up at him. Or if he’d just ended up like Wilbur. He just couldn’t remember when he’d finally died.

“Hey.”

He blinked up at Dream, forcing himself to smile. The man was still wearing his mask, and uncertainty unfurled in Tommy’s chest. He hadn’t worn the mask around Tommy in months now. Had he fucked up somehow, did Dream know-

“What’d you wanna do today then?” Dream asked as he cocked his head, rolling back on the balls of his boots.

“I was gonna try finish my tower,” Tommy breathed, gesturing to the wooden structure on the hill. Dream nodded, clapping his hands together. When Tommy didn’t move, he glanced back down at him, holding an encouraging hand out. Tommy hesitated, feeling like his bones might shatter if he so much as breathed too quickly, but he reached out, head hanging as he let Dream pull him up.

The blond rattled off meaningless chatter as they worked, none of it going into Tommy’s head as the sound of his hammer splitting the nails into the wood rang around his whole body.

When he ran out of wood, reaching down to pick up a plank and feeling nothing but air, he almost let himself topple. He glanced down, watching as the sea far, far, far below crashed against the sand. White foam angry, rageful as the waves desperately tried to crawl their way closer inland. They screamed in protest when the tides dragged them back. An endless, eternal fight.

“I need more wood,” he said blankly, looking up to see Dream cut his chatter off, nodding with a stiff smile. He was still wearing his mask. He followed as Tommy dropped the hammer from his fingers, clambering down the ladder. A wave of disappointment washed over him when his feet dropped down onto soil.

“What’s wrong?” Dream finally asked as they wandered over to Logstedshire, and from his peripheral vision, Tommy could see the older man clench his jaw.

“Just feeling a bit shit,” he shrugged, leaning against the wall, refusing to look up at Dream as he dug his toes into the dirt, moving it around as he felt a horrible nothingness swallow his insides whole.

“How come?”

“Lonely, I guess.” There was a hesitative pause after that, and the silence was almost worse than the cold itching in his chest, so Tommy glanced up, watching as Dream wandered over to the van. His heartrate shot up, and it was like something still burning and alive and fucking terrified in his body took over. His ruined, bleeding and bruised feet, a perfect picture of decay, an angry map of purple and green kisses, pushed against the dirt.

Everything seemed to blend into one, time slowing as he tried to sprint over to Dream. A mushy, fuzzy, frustrating distortion as he grabbed onto Dream’s arm.

“Well, Tommy, put your stuff-” Dream was saying as he dug his heels into the dirt, trying to create a makeshift hole. Tommy was going to throw up.

“Dream, look at this, look at this cow I-” he desperately tried to distract him, choking on tears of terror that were already forming, desperately gesturing to the cow he’d found wandering across the plains. Desperately praying that Dream wouldn’t find it. And desperately praying that if he did, he’d kill him quickly.

The older man shoved Tommy’s hand roughly off of him as the soil crumbled away. He buried his face in his hands, blood choking, lungs hesitating as he heard Dream’s breathing hitch. When he peered through his fingers, he saw Dream drop down into his room. The only sound his steps as he circled around, running his fingers along the chests.

“Uhm, are you okay?” Tommy breathed words coming out as a shudder more than anything else. “Do you want me to-”

Dream’s head tilted up towards him, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. Tommy dug his fingers into his hair, nails scraping into skin, trying to crack his own skull open. Dream didn’t speak, not as he pulled out sticks of dynamite from his coat, a lit match in his other hand before Tommy could even speak.

Again, that thing inside of him that forced him to eat and sleep and wake up took charge of his body, and he was flying towards Dream, one arm coming up to protect his face as he scrambled towards the chests.

“No, don’t, no, no.” He could hear his own wracked sobbing in his ears, but he couldn’t feel his mouth moving, couldn’t feel anything as he snatched up the picture, the faces now painfully recognisable. He didn’t have time to do anything else before he found himself screaming, his own cry sounding around his own head like an awful song, and being thrown across the cave.

Gasping out for breath, bloodied spit trickled from the corner of his mouth, down his jaw as he tried to sit up. Winded, he wheezed awkwardly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He tried to shuffle away as Dream stalked towards him, also bleeding from somewhere, and also having burned clothes, but not seeming to care at all as he gripped onto Tommy’s collar, hoisting him into the air and practically throwing him out of the now blown-up room.

“Stuff in the hole.” Tommy’s head snapped up at the guttural snarl that ripped from Dream’s mouth, trying to shuffle away despite the painful thud that was sewn into his bones.

“No,” he tried to bite back, lip trembling.

“All of it,” was all Dream said, and although his voice was painted in calmness, Tommy was agonizingly familiar with the wavering rage laced beneath. Familiar with that darkness that always seemed to be crawling beneath Dream’s skin, always one step away from unleashing. Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if one day, one day when he was finally gone from it all, one day, Dream would tear the whole thing to shreds.

“But I, I-” he spluttered, still trying to crawl away as Dream kept stepping towards him. His back hit a wooden wall, and even at the slight contact, his eyes rolled back into his head in pain.

“Tommy, you hid chests under your base, so I couldn’t take it,” Dream said, the usual drawl pained, strained. Despite himself, Tommy glanced up at the man standing above him, as Dream fisted his own shirt in one hand, clutching a stick of dynamite in the other. Betrayal sang through his body.

Tommy hated himself. Hated himself for doing this to Dream, when all he’d tried to do was help him. Hated that Dream was doing this to him. He nodded shakily, unclipping his sword from where it was strapped to his side. Tossing it towards Dream’s feet, into the hole.

“I threw it, I threw it,” he pleaded.

“No, I want everything,” Dream told him, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “You lied to me.” Tommy wanted to scream, wanted to rip his hair out and untie every fraying end in his body, every fucked-up piece of his brain that made him relive the wars and his brothers abandoning him and every single injury he’d ever gained. Wanted to die when Dream’s voice broke off.

“I threw my sword in there.”

“Everything.”

“But these are mine,” he said pitifully, not fully sure what he even had in his pockets. He just knew that he needed to keep something, needed to hold onto something, because he felt like somehow, he maybe was dying every day. But he was just being forced to relive the same day, the same loneliness, the same abandonment every single fucking day. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

Dream tugged on Tommy’s wrist, hauling him onto his weak legs, and he bit down a trembling scream of pain, agony twisting through his limbs. “How about you get in the hole, Tommy?” Dream breathed against his ear, hands pressed against Tommy’s back, ready to just lightly push. His stomach clenched. He would not go in that hole. He would not go into small spaces.

He edged around Dream, stumbling backwards as he threw everything from his pockets into the hole. Apart from the photo that was burning a hole in his trousers. He gritted his chattering teeth. He wouldn’t give that up. He was only made of his memories now. He would not give that piece of him up.

“Okay, okay, I’m really sorry,” he said as he stepped backwards, watching as Dream tossed the dynamite into the hole. “I didn’t think about, y’know…” he trailed off, words painful against his throat, like knives digging into his skin ruthlessly.

“You didn’t think about what?” Dream asked as he paced around Logstedshire, that empty, blank mask glaring back at him as Dream looked over his shoulder.

“No, I really, I’m really sorry.” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, trying to do anything to stop Dream as he watched him pull a seemingly endless supply of tnt from his pockets, lighting the matches against his mask, and letting the explosives litter the ground.

“I’m really sorry, I thought it was-”

But Dream wasn’t even listening anymore, just blankly blowing everything up without flinching. Tommy was pretty sure he was crying, but he couldn’t feel anything, feet on the ground numb, face numb against the slashing wind, body numb to everything. He watched as Dream threw explosives into Wilbur’s van, wrapping his arms around himself as he trembled.

“No please, I’m really sorry, Dream. I’m so, so sorry. I was only doing it because-” A particularly loud explosion cut him off. He stumbled backwards, smoke encircling his neck. His bad leg threatened to buckle, twitching underneath his weight as he tried to let out one last scream of revolt. The burning rage that had resided in him, that sweltering, spitting fire that had breathed into his lungs as soon as he’d been born. It encompassed him; blue eyes all-consuming as he clenched his fists. The light from the thinning sun shone down, blond hair blinding.

“Dream!” he screamed, one last attempt to stand up. His last attempt.

And Dream froze, chest heaving with silent breaths as he turned. The mask stared down at Tommy, noiseless madness jerking through his entire body. But he was not scared. He was not scared of Tommy of that thinning rage as he stalked towards the younger boy. Scarred fingers wrapped around his arm, and Dream tugged.

His feet scuffed painfully against the ground, skin splitting, torn apart as Dream tugged him along. Tommy tried to fight back, scrambling under the man’s tight hold. But as one rock rolled over the sole of his right foot, he barked out a yelp of pitiful pain, eyes streaming in agony. And the fire in his body went out, and his soul went limp, and he let Dream drag him towards his tent.

“I’m so, so sorry,” was all he found himself saying, mindless apologises tumbling from his dry lips, shaking his head again and again. “No, Dream, I’m really, really, I just…”

Dream let go off his arm, and all Tommy could do was stand and watch, limbs feeling too loose, body feeling too heavy and useless as Dream blew up his tent. He didn’t even scramble away from the heat that soared across his face. All he looked at was Dream was he turned back to Tommy, mask coated in dust, streaked in blood from his own injuries, as well as Tommy’s. Dream pointed an accusatory finger in his direction before his fingers tightened into fists, and he snatched his pick from where it hung at his side. Tommy let out a wracked sob as Dream smashed the pick into his Nether portal, destroying any contact he could possibly have with anyone else.

“Tommy it’s time for you to start over,” Dream said in-between his arms moving back and forwards, shards black stone splintering in every direction. “Tommy, I thought-” Dream cut himself off, biting down on his bottom lip as the pick fell to his side. His head snapped towards Tommy’s. “I thought we were friends.”

Tommy came undone. “We are, we are, you’re my best friend,” he pleaded, stumbling forward to try and grip onto Dream, try to make him understand that Tommy was sorry, he hadn’t meant to upset him, hadn’t meant to hurt _Dream_. Not Dream.

“You were lying to me, Tommy,” Dream said, and the pure, raw disgust in his voice made Tommy hang his head. Dream didn’t push away his hands as he fisted his sweater, tears falling from his eyes.

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t, I wasn’t,” he breathed shakily, shoulders trembling as he begged. He would’ve dropped to his knees, bruised himself begging for Dream’s forgiveness. And he did, as Dream pushed him away, his steadiness causing Tommy to falter and fall. He didn’t get back up, digging his broken nails into the dirt beneath him.

“You hid things in a chest, things you knew I wouldn’t want you to have, knowing I wouldn’t ever find them,” Dream said from above him. “And I only found them because I was mining down to tell you to drop your things in like always and you…” he cut himself off with a frustrated snarl, snatching up his sword and spinning. Tommy didn’t even understand what was happening before there was a guttural groan. And the cow he’d found dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, eyes glassy and throat slit.

Tommy threw up in his mouth as he turned his head, unable to look, pressing his fist against his lips as he shook. He listened as Dream stalked around Logstedshire, each explosion searing through Tommy’s bones as he stayed on the ground, shuddering and sobbing and bleeding and just wanting to die so much it hurt.

He felt hell open up beneath him as the explosions continued. He saw Technoblade sprinting, face contorting in pain. He saw L’Manberg falling into the earth, his home collapsing in on itself, just like his own ribcage. He saw Wilbur, walking through the smoke, the destruction, face blank as his symphony was finished.

He only glanced up when silence fell, face feeling tight over his bones, body feeling ready to finally falter.

“Dream?” he breathed as he watched the man crouch down beside him, taking Tommy’s chin lightly in his grip. Logstedshire lay in ruins behind him, a painting of ruin and punishment. Tommy wanted to lie with it.

“Tommy, you can’t go to the nether. No one can come and visit you. Until you learn to listen.” He moved his lips to reply, but nothing came out. Dream tilted his chin, and Tommy let him, unable to feel anything in his body, even as blood dripped down from his hairline onto his nose. “You have to start over,” Dream said sadly, as if it was hard to get out.

“Okay,” Tommy breathed, only thing holding his head up Dream’s fingers, as his eyes dropped to the ruined ground. The grass around Logstedshire was gone, replaced with upturned soil and shards of debris. “If that’s what you think is-”

“I’ll give you one thing, Tommy,” Dream said, cutting him off, his fingers falling from Tommy’s face. The lack of something solid on him made Tommy’s mind reel. His eyes flashed up to look at Dream. “You’ll still come and visit me, right?” he begged. Dream didn’t answer his question, face turning to gesture down to the beach.

“You can keep the jukebox on the beach, but Tommy, don’t _do_ that again. You know, I exiled you for a reason, and Tubbo exiled you for a reason, and you didn’t listen. The rules were simple. I just wanted your armour and weapons every day, and sometimes I didn’t even take it because I thought we were friends,” Dream said softly, head staying firmly directed towards the beach, not even looking at Tommy as the younger boy gripped onto his arms, trying to shake him. He wondered what would happen if he dug his nails into Dream’s forearm. If he could shred the other man’s body into ribbons of skin and arteries and muscle. If Dream was even made of all of those things. If he was even corporeal.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Dream’s head slowly turned to look at him, and Tommy fucking hated that Dream could see his face, could see him breaking. But Dream had taken his own face away from Tommy. The sliver of humanity, of trust he had extended, and Tommy had ruined it. He had lost his friend.

“And you always have to find a way to defy me,” Dream mused, shaggy blond hair falling in front of the mask. Tommy’s face crumpled up, and he let himself fall into Dream’s chest. He waited for the man to push him back, and when he didn’t, when Dream just stayed still, neither embracing nor rejected, Tommy fell apart, body tense, bones grinding against bones, blood blending into blood.

“I wasn’t planning to go for much longer,” he blurted out now he couldn’t see Dream, screwing his eyes shut. “And-and it’s not your fault,” he added quickly when he felt Dream stiffen under him, breathing hitching in genuine surprise. “It’s my fault but I-” He cut himself off, eyes blinking open and biting down on his tongue so hard metal coated his mouth, as Dream lightly pushed him away. He held Tommy at arm’s length, fingers gripping on his arms harshly. Tommy might’ve winced if he didn’t deserve it.

“Tommy, you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t ever actually… you know?” Dream’s chest rose when Tommy didn’t respond, head going limp. His hair was so long now it fell in his face, brushing against his nose, and the grazes on his face, hiding himself from the outside.

“You’re here for a very long time, Tommy,” Dream said, hands falling away from Tommy’s arms. His voice was decided, unbreaking, final. He was finality. He was Tommy’s finality.

“But you need to start over. But next time, don’t make the same mistake, and this won’t have to happen again.” He glanced up as Dream stood, staying on his knees in the wreckage. The question he was dying to asl must’ve been written across his face, and Tommy wondered how pathetic he had to have looked for Dream to show some pity towards him.

“I’ll still come visit you.”

“Every day?” Tommy smiled with relief, blinking up as Dream frowned.

“Maybe not every day.” Tommy tried to not let his face betray how much that stung.

“Once a week?” he whispered shakily.

“At least,” Dream nodded.

Tommy gulped, glancing towards the ruined portal, out to the sea that separated him from everything he’d ever known. “So, what about, what do I-” Before he could even finish his question, Dream was letting out an exasperated sigh. Shame coloured Tommy’s cheeks, nipping at the back of his neck.

“Tommy, you hid stuff from me to… _to_ _what_? What were you going to do with it all, attack me? Try and kill me?” Dream demanded, and Tommy shrunk back into himself as he was stared down. The idea of trying to kill Dream spliced through his mind, fingers twitching for a weapon that didn’t exist, and he had to glare at the ground, a frustrating stuffiness clawing at the back of his eyes.

“I just wanted to- I just wanted my things,” he breathed.

“Most of those things I wouldn’t have even taken,” Dream sighed, and when Tommy looked back up, the older man’s fingers were flexing into fists at his side. Panic shot through him, and his aching body started screaming in terror at the idea of Dream hurting him more. He didn’t think he could live through it.

“I’m really sorry though, should we just-just pretend-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy. Listen, I’ll leave you here to-”

“What about the Nether?” he asked, unable to help himself. The Nether was the one place he had to escape, the one place with a semblance of normality, of his life before.

“No, you can’t go to the Nether,” Dream replied, tone clipped and clearly irritated. “No one can come here. You are alone. As soon as I think you have changed – changed into someone who won’t hide and lie and try and revolt, then you can do those things again. But for now, no.” Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Dream sighed, digging his fingers into his blond hair.

“I was lenient with you!” he cried out, gesturing between himself and Tommy. “I brought my _sister_ here!” Tommy whimpered as Drista smiled in his head, the girl who had promised to come back. To come back and see him again. That had been more than a week ago. He wondered if she was still here, if she was staying with Dream. If it had been her choice to abandon him. Just like everyone else had.

“I have been nothing but gracious to you, and this is how you repay me, Tommy? This is how you repay me.”

He watched, silent, as Dream walked away, shaking his head. He stayed where he was for a moment, feeling like a child who had just been scolded by a parent, feeling like someone who had just lost their only friend, feeling like someone who had already lost everything.

After what could have been hours, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he realised it was getting kind of hard to breathe. And then he took a step, each one hurting, sending a firework of pain breathing up his feet, into his legs. And although each one hurt, he kept walking. And when he found himself at the ladder, he pushed up, grabbing onto each rung until he was standing at the top of his unfinished tower.

He was in pain because the day was going to end, and so was the next, and so was his life, and yet he was somehow never healing. He hadn’t been healing at all. Not since that first war. Maybe never. He had been born alone and abandoned, and he had always been broken. He had just been pretending to get better, pretending that the revolution didn’t fuck with his head, pretending like the rebellion didn’t break his heart. Pretended like he could sleep through the night without waking up screaming. Pretended like he didn’t see Wilbur everywhere he looked, heard Wilbur singing every time he closed his eyes. Pretended like he was alright.

Wind brushing against his hair, raking its way through the matted, disgusting curls, he silently begged for it to topple him over, to push him off. So, he wouldn’t have to step off himself. The sea down below seemed to scream up at him, as he watched them. But he had no idea what the sea was trying to tell him, had no idea what anything was trying to tell him, as he shuffled closer to the edge.

If he relaxed his stiff, wax body, he would fall apart. He’d only ever lived like this, and it was the only way he knew to keep on living. If he relaxed, even for a second, he would never find his way back. He’d go to pieces, and the pieces would be blown away.

God, he wanted to blow away so much it hurt. He wanted to step off this tower, and for the spitting wind and the salt in the sea to claim him. He wanted the soil he had constantly upturned with his anger, his wars, to take him, lower him into the ground, so he could give back to the ground he had walked upon. He wanted to be used, he wanted to be needed.

Dream needed him. Dream would come back. Dream wouldn’t leave him; Dream couldn’t leave him. What was he without Dream? He was just an abandoned man on a beach, standing on a tower. A young man who couldn’t for the life of him couldn’t remember where his childhood had gone. A young man who didn’t want to grow into any of the men he had seen live.

He shut his eyes, holding his arms out as he just tried to breathe. As he waited for the urge to step off. As he collected the last muster of courage he had to step off. Could he step off? Would anyone care? Dream would care.

The photo hidden in his pocket burned against his skin as the wind soothed his skin, trailing down his neck. Dream wanted Tommy to change, wanted him to be someone who wouldn’t revolt. But the photo hidden in his pocket, was the greatest act of rebellion he’d ever done. A silent stand against Dream. Why did he have to stand up to someone who was supposed to be his friend.

Dream came every day. Dream would come every week now. Because Tommy had let him down. Blinking open his eyes, his breath caught in his throat, toes curling around the wooden edge. Friends didn’t make you follow rules. Friends didn’t take your possessions; make you throw them in a hole and blow them up.

Tommy’s hand slid into his pocket. He didn’t look at the photo, but he held it to his chest, fingers tapping into his skin. It had been a while, since the fingers against his skin hadn’t dug in, hadn’t been an act of reward, or a punishment. He twitched, exhaling shakily.

Dream wasn’t his friend. Dream was his keeper.

Dream wasn’t there to be his friend.

Tommy’s lips parted, air rushing into his lungs as he stepped away from the edge. The sea calmed, screaming dying down, and the wind’s roar morphed into a sprightly melody, breathing lightly against the back of his neck, wrapping around his bruised ankles, slowly urging him backwards, further and further away from the edge.

Dream was there to scared him. And Tommy would not be afraid.

Photo still in his hand, Tommy dropped down onto the ladders, fingers tightening around each individual rung as he clambered back down. His body still ached, still protested painfully with every movement, but now, as he walked through the smoking ruins of Logstedshire, another home Dream had seen fit to burn down to the ground, the fire in his gut flickered up again.

And each step forward, no matter how sore, was another confirmation that his feet were on the ground. His feet were on the ground, and he was alive, and he was walking, and he was breathing.

He paused on the hill, glancing over the ruined area. His tent was gone, along with Wilbur’s old coat he’d kept, and the new discs he’d found, and all the letters Ranboo had sent him. He was alone now. Properly alone. No Dream. No one coming to visit him.

He couldn’t go back to them. He slid the photo back into his pocket as he took a step backwards, grass flattening under his feet. He couldn’t go back to Tubbo. He had exiled Tommy. No one had visited, no one had come to his party. They hated him, but that was alright. Because he was Tommy Innit, and if he had come this far, he could keep going alone.

Eyes scanning, he found his lip curling. It was a shithole. Logstedshire was a shithole. Dream had kept him in this shithole. It was Dream’s fucking fault in the first place that he’d ever been sentenced to this shithole. His fingers flexed at his side as he took another step.

Glancing down at himself, his stomach clenched. His bones were visible in his limbs, skin pulled taunt, and peppered with dark, blossoming bruises. His whole body was a book, the new scars and the old, the wrecked nails and slashed feet, a testimony to everything he had survived. Everything he had survived on his own.

He had survived this shithole on his own. Because Dream hadn’t been there to look after him, he had just been there to make sure he didn’t fucking die or off himself, so Dream could watch him break. Dream hadn’t stayed for Tommy, and no one who had visited had been there for him either. It was all from pity, and pathetic sympathy that he had never asked for. Sam, Ranboo, even goddamn Ghostbur, everyone who had come to see him, had eventually left. Because they could all go back home.

Everyone had left him, so he would leave them too.

He was Tommy Innit, and Dream had kept him here, kept him weak and hopeless, because he was the only one who scared Dream.

And Dream was ethereal, celestial. And he was scared of Tommy.

Because Tommy was glorious, powerful. Dream had said it himself. And if Dream was a God, and he was scared of Tommy, then what the hell did that make him?

Tommy let out a loose laugh for the first time in what felt like years. Throat sore and scratchy, he kept laughing, feeling lighter than he ever had. Because he didn’t have to stay in this shithole. Back to square one, his ass.

Licking his lips, Tommy paced. He wrung his hands together, trying to come up with a plan in his head. He couldn’t go to the Nether, couldn’t try sneak back into L’Manberg even if he wanted to. Punz had been read to slit him open there and then when he had visited with Drista, he doubted he would even make it a step over the portal before he found an axe buried in his skull or an arrow piercing his chest.

He would just have to find his own way.

Dream wasn’t coming everyday anymore, so if he just left, he wouldn’t know. Dream wouldn’t know. And even if Dream figured out he’d run off, the fuck could he do about it?

Tommy blinked up, and something warm and fluorescent and something unlike anything he’d felt in months settled over him, sinking into his skin and carving itself into his bones. And as the feeling soared through his body, Tommy spun on the balls of his feet, and he started running.

He ran as fast as he could with his bad leg and the fact that he hadn’t slept, eaten or wanted to live in days. The grass was slick under his feet, the wind beautifully cold against his cheeks, his neck, the back of his arms.

Tommy was going to get back his discs, and he was going to end Dream.

He was so used to people saving him.

When he’d run away from his village, he’d relied on Tubbo to help him not lose his mind out in the unknown, only managing to get through it because he could get through it with his friend. And then he’d met Wilbur, someone who hadn’t minded helping him, showing him what to do. Someone who he could look up to, someone who wouldn’t hesitate putting Tommy before himself. He’d never had anyone who’d done that before.

And then he had written to Technoblade when shit had hit the fan, not even knowing the man that well. He’d just begged him to come help him save his big brother. And Techno had come without hesitation. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d known the man had come for Wilbur’s sake, not his. But as time went on, as Techno fought Sapnap for him, as he cut his hair and made dinner, Tommy started relying on him too.

And then there was Phil, the last person Tommy had to call on. And Phil had come too, in a blazing fit of glory, he’d come to save all of them as they threatened to destroy themselves. But Phil had failed. Techno had failed. Will had failed. And so had Tubbo.

Tommy wrapped his arms around himself, wincing as he wandered into plains brushed with snow, the snow biting into his toes and ankles as he kept pushing forward.

He had always relied on everyone else to save him.

Now he just had to save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the support guys, it really keeps me motivated to keep going :D


	17. An Execution

As he let the lid of the chest slammed down with a snap, the golden locks snapping against the wood, the enderman who had taken up residence in his living room started screaming. Techno sighed, pink hair brushing over his shoulder as he hung his head in irritation. He had specifically told Phil to not go through his things the last time he’d found the older man ‘rearranging’ his potion cabinet

He didn’t even understand why you’d ever want to rearrange someone else’s things. It wasn’t helpful, it was actually incredibly frustrating. Biting down on his cheek, Techno tried to let the annoyance wash over him. He’d just ask Phil about it at dinner tonight, and Phil would have a reasonable, thoughtful explanation that showed his heart was in the right place and Techno would pretend to not be pissed off.

Ignoring Edward, Techno moved to check on his brewing stand, flicking his fingers against the glass bottles in turn. He should’ve killed the damn thing when it had appeared in the first place. But Edward had strangely never made any move to hurt him, and Techno had felt a weird, misplaced sense of empathy as he’d held his blade against the thing’s chest. And so, now he had a roommate.

It beat only speaking to the voices in his head at least.

“Want anything’ to drink, man?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen, purposefully keeping his eyes on his boots. “Nope? You’re good? Cool,” he murmured, running his teeth over his tusks as he opened up one of the cabinets, pulling out a mug for himself. “You know, it’s really great to have someone to talk to around here,” Techno called back as he waited for the water to boil, tapping his fingers along the counter.

“Even if you just kind of scream most of the time,” he added with a sigh when a familiar screeching sound was the only response he got, grabbing for his mug. And then his eyes drifted out the window, and the mug fell from his fingers, shattering on the wooden floor.

The figure standing outside his house waved up at him. Yellow jumper impossibly bright, painfully bright. Smile familiar but lacking the usual warmth, the usual vivacity. If Phil hadn’t told him about the ghost, about some part of Wilbur getting trapped between dimensions, he would’ve thought that that was it. He had finally lost his fucking mind.

Instead, he tried to smile back, watching as the figure slowly drifted over to the stairs. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he made his own way over to the door, forcing him to breathe properly as his fingers found the handle. And his dead friend (his dead brother) stood (hovered) in front of him.

_Wilbur? **It’s Will.** Not Will. **Kill it.** It is an imposter. **Kill the imposter**. He is not your brother. _

Before he could even speak, jaw tightly unlatching as he took in the phantom in front of him, with translucent skin and hair that was grey and like wisps of thread instead of feral curls trapped beneath a hat, before he could say anything to his friend, explain anything, Wilbur was speaking.

“They’re coming to kill you.”

Oh. Alright. Wait.

“What?” he questioned, blinking in confusion as he took a hesitant step backwards. “I-”

“Phil told me to tell you that they are coming to kill you,” Wilbur said with a grin that absolutely did not match up with the light, melodic and violent words that were coming out of his mouth. At the mention of Phil, Techno jumped into action. He legged it towards his brewing stand, thanking the stars that he’d randomly decided to brew potions this morning.

The fucking bounty hunters, he supposed. Goddamn, he hated it when Dream was right about things. “Is Phil okay?” he asked as he unscrewed the corks with his teeth, sprinkling in as much glowstone dust in the bottles as he could. Potato farming or brewing, Techno would be damned if his hobbies didn’t continuously prove to be useful.

“He’s in his house,” Wilbur responded from where he was hovering in the doorway, eyeing the enderman with intrigue. That wasn’t a proper answer. What if Phil had been hurt. Had been hurt by this supposed team of bounty hunters who were coming to kill him? It would be his fault if anything happened to Phil. Techno cursed himself under his breath as his hands shook, gritting down on his teeth. Phil was a grown man, and he had lived through more than he spoke about. He would be fine. Techno had to worry about himself right now.

“Please, please, have some blue,” Wilbur said as he came up beside Techno, hands full of blue chalk and dried cornflower petals and blue dye.

“I do not have time for blue, Ghost,” he said, shaking his head. He remembered Phil telling him Wilbur freaked out if anyone called him by his real name, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d named himself. And honestly, he also did not really care what this leftover version of his friend was doing.

“Calm yourself, have some blue,” Wilbur said as he ran his fingers of mist and shadow across the collection in his own palms.

“I am very calm,” Techno gritted out as he ran through his home, collecting supplies in his arms before he dumped them at the brewing stand, frantically pouring things into bottles as they boiled and hissed, praying he was doing it right.

“I can do potions; do you need help?” Wilbur asked, frowning slightly when Techno just brushed past him, focused solely on the task at hand. “What is wrong?”

“You’ve just told me people are comin’ to kill me,” he sighed, trying to stay as calm as possible as he could with the voices roaring through his body in preparation, clasping his hands together as he looked down at Wilbur. Huh, he was shorter now. “And I’d rather not die right now.”

“Why would they want to kill you, what have you done?” Techno didn’t answer that, clamping his teeth together as he tied back his hair. What hadn’t he done? In the eyes of literally everyone who wasn’t the man who he’d lived with for years, he was the literal devil. And as much as having a reputation excited Techno, he think he’d rather not have to deal with anyone who lived here ever again.

“Can I help?”

“I’m makin’ strength potions,” Techno said, because if the ghost wanted to work for him, it wasn’t like he was going to say no.

“And how does one do that?” Okay, well, maybe he should say no.

“Look, Will,” he started as he turned to face the still smiling ghost, completely forgetting he wasn’t supposed to call him that. “I’m not goin’ to lie; I don’t think you bein' 'ere is going to expedite the process.”

“I’m not going to be here for too long, don’t worry Technoblade,” Wilbur said as he turned back to his potions, back stiffening slightly at hearing his brother’s voice say his full name. He hated it when Will called him that, had always hated it. Because Wilbur only ever said Technoblade when he was being a whiny dick, condescending, or in serious peril. He shook his head as he ignored the horrible tight feeling stretching out across his neck. This wasn’t his brother; it didn’t matter what it called him.

“Dream sent me off into the wilderness, and I’ve been wandering, and I- the problem is I actually melt in the rain and-” Techno cut him off as he nodded enthusiastically, gathering some of the potions and shoving them in his pockets before he gripped onto Will’s shoulders, and started leading him out of his house. He did not care about Dream or wandering or the rain. He cared about the people coming to assassinate him. Well, coming to try.

“That’s great. That’s great, Wilbur but you’ve got to get out of here. They’re gonna come and they’re gonna see you, and I don’t know what they’ll do to you,” he said as he swung open his door, gesturing for Wilbur to leave. “I don’t even know what they’re going to do to me, but I don’t think it’s gonna be good, so you need to-”

Wilbur cut him off with a delighted laugh, hovering up and down in the air as he pointed out towards the distance. Brows furrowing, Techno turned to see what he was pointing at, eyes widening when he saw a blue sheep wandering around the snow-covered plains. How the hell did that even happen?

“Look Techno, it’s a sign,” Wilbur breathed giddily, and that was all Techno needed to latch onto and get rid of him. He nodded, trying to exude the same enthusiasm for the animal as Will did, lightly nudging him outside. “I need you to take that sheep and go,” he ordered, making to turn back when Will’s words caught his steps.

“I can go far away. Would that make you happy?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, hating that guilt was slowly making its way through his body as Wilbur smiled up at him, eyes crinkling. “Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly, chewing on his bottom lip. He hadn’t mean to be as dismissive as he had, but if Wilbur stayed here, he would get hurt, and Techno couldn’t have that on his conscience. Not after he already had his brother’s original death weighing on his shoulders.

“What are they gonna do, double dead me?” Wilbur asked, and for a split-second Techno could see the old Wilbur in the husk of this shadow creature, eyes shining with a wide, toothy grin.

“Please, Will,” was all Techno said, and he must’ve looked as tired and stressed as he felt, which honestly was what he felt like for a solid majority of the day, because Wilbur frowned slightly, head cocking before he nodded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Wilbur said, but Techno was already closing the door in his face. Groaning to himself at the whole shitshow that was the political landscape he’s moved into, which he had only done as a favour to Will and Tommy anyway, and now he couldn’t even seem to escape. Even though he had literally hidden in the tundra, because he’d thought there would be no way anyone in their right mind, no matter how much they wanted Techno’s blood spilt, would chase him out here.

Leaping down his ladder into his basement, he threw open the hidden chest towards the back, running his fingers along the golden totem in his hand. God, he hated being indebted to Dream. Because there was no way that bastard had warned Techno out of the kindness in his heart.

As he pulled himself back up to the other floor, his eyes fell on a chest that seemed out of place. It had been pushed aside, and it looked like there was something underneath. Squinting, he went to check, fingers drifting to the hilt of his sword, when he heard the brewing potions upstairs hissing.

“Brew, brew, brew, hurry up,” he muttered under his breath as he crouched down at the stand, inhaling sharply as he snatched the still hot glass bottles. He glanced over himself, fingers drifting across the blade sheathed at his side, the two axes strapped to his back, the potions weighing down his pockets. And the hidden totem, tucked into his side.

_Blood for the Blood God. **Show no mercy when they come**. Someone has hired people to kill you. **Show them what that money got them**_ **.**

Clenching his jaw, he tried to ignore the voices as they riled themselves up in his head. He stalked back into the kitchen, standing in front of the window facing towards L’Manberg. A misty figure was drifting around the forest to the left, patting a sheep as it grazed, and Techno groaned. That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant when he’d told him to get out of here.

He turned when the enderman in the next room started screeching, ears flattening against his head in pain. “Edward, chill,” he hissed, rubbing his knuckles against his temples. God, he really was going insane. He was speaking to a goddamn enderman and the voices in his head.

Turning back towards the window, Technoblade wanted to smash his head through the glass. Wilbur was still at the edge of the forest, hovering around his sheep. But he had found some new friends. Tubbo, Fundy, Quackity and some kid who Techno had never seen before were standing beside him. All of them were wearing enchanted netherite, gleaming darkly against the white expanse they were intruding upon.

**_Yes, yes, yes._ ** _We expected a team of professionals, and this is what has come to us **. Blood for the Blood God**. Children and fools have come to try and stop us. **It will be a massacre.** Kill them all. **The Government have come to try and stop us.**_

Well, the plan of sending Wilbur away hadn’t turned out like he’d planned. He watched as Wilbur turned around to face the house. As he started pointing towards the house, the four other men nodding at each other

“No, do not wave at me. No,” Technoblade hissed under his breath, gracelessly dropping to the floor in an attempt to hide. Well, Wilbur was on his own. Tubbo and the rest of his sham government could do what they liked to the idiot. Maybe if it was still his actual friend and not some weird creature whose voice was two pitches too high, Technoblade would care.

He froze when a knock came from his door. Trying to ignore it, he pushed himself off of his floor, and crept along the wall until he was beside the door. “Hello?” He buried his head in his hands to stifle the frustrated scream that threatened to explode through his body. “Hey, Technoblade?”

_Kill the idiot. **Blood for the Blood God.** He has no blood, he is a ghost. **Nevertheless, kill him.** He is a burden. **Kill**._

“I’m not killin' the ghost of my dead friend,” he hissed into his own hands, sighing when that only egged the voices on, and they started slashing against his mind, whining and crying out for violence.

“I can hear you speaking, Technoblade.”

Sighing, he stood up, rolled back his shoulders, and pulled the door open. Wilbur smiled up at him, dimples crinkling as he waved. Technoblade waved back, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“I found the guys who are trying to kill you, Technoblade.” He nodded, refusing to step over the threshold. Maybe there was still hope that they didn’t know he was here. Maybe he could get away with this. Because he really was not in the mood to smash his axes into some teenagers’ faces today.

“I need you to tell 'em I’m not 'ere,” he said calmly, watching as Wilbur’s nose crinkled up.

“That would be lying,” he said, shocked as he cocked his head. Techno opened his mouth to say something, although the only things flying through his head were vulgar insults and the desire to find out how one can kill a ghost, when one of the four down below shouted up to them.

Right, well, he supposed he was doing this now.

He gestured for Will’s to go first, clicking shut his front door behind him and slamming down on the lock before he followed. His boots thudded against the wooden stairs and turned into crunching as he walked onto the snow, standing opposite the four men who had come to kill him. As both parties waited for the other to move first, Wilbur drifted in between them all, shrugging towards Tubbo as he said, “Technoblade isn’t here guys.”

There was a pause as the four men glanced between each other, and Techno ran a tired hand down his brow. “You know we can see him, right?” Tubbo asked Wilbur with a cautious frown, gesturing to where Technoblade was standing.

“Will, I think it’s a little late for that,” he murmured as he gestured for the other to move behind him, which Wilbur did without complaint, just humming away to himself as Techno’s red eyes snapped towards the four men, all gripping swords and axes in their hands.

“Technoblade,” Quackity said, stepping forward with a scowl.

“Hey,” he said, trying his hardest to smile casually. He could still deal with this situation. It didn’t have to get awkward, or messy or incredibly violent. “Why ‘ave you guys come all the way out 'ere, to my humble abode?”

“You need to pay for your war crimes.”

_Kill them. **Kill them all.** Blood for the Blood God._

Technoblade almost choked on his own breath at Tubbo’s tone. The last he’d seen the kid, he was constantly smiling, now he looked like someone who had just come home from a war. Or someone who was preparing for one. Standing in the tundra, cape whirling around his legs, armour gleaming and face baring a collection of burn scars that Techno had given him, he looked years older than his age.

 _“War crimes?”_ he asked incredulously. War crimes was a bit of a stretch. You blow up one city. “That’s in the past, man, that was a different Technoblade. I’ve changed, Tubbo. I’m retired.”

“Technoblade, you blew up L’Manberg,” Fundy accused, auburn hair drifting in the wind as he pointed his axe in Techno’s direction.

“You brought withers!” Tubbo cried out, face pained. Techno cringed at that, nodding in agreement. He had technically done those things.

“I’m sorry Technoblade,” Quackity started, shaking his head. Technoblade clenched his jaw. The politeness was written all across Quackity’s face, his lips smiling cautiously, face easy and calm, hands away from his weapon. His body was in all the right places for this show, for the façade of democracy. But Techno could see the blazing fire beneath his dark eyes, the slight twitch as Techno refused to play into their game. Into his game. Because although Tubbo was the President, Techno would be damned if Quackity wasn’t somehow pulling the strings.

He wondered if Tubbo knew yet.

“Even if you’ve changed, there needs to be justice for all you did.”

Techno sighed dramatically, gesturing to himself, then back to the four of them. “This doesn’t look like justice to me, guys. _Listen_ , I’ve changed my violent ways, I ‘ave reformed myself. The voices? They demand blood, and I ‘ave been denyin’ them, okay?”

He watched as all four of their eyes widened, each of them taking an instinctive step back, swords and axes hissing in the air as they all pointed at Technoblade. Great. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the voices. That was probably not the best thing to do in this situation.

“Please,” he started, trying one last time. “Please do not make me kill all of you.” He aimed that last bit towards Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend, the brother of his brother. And although Tubbo’s throat bobbed, eyes glancing away, his weapon did not falter. And it was not him, not the President who replied. No, of course it wasn’t.

“Come peacefully,” Quackity demanded, tightening his hold on his sword.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t think I will.”

Quackity’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “Look Technoblade, we’re going to fuck you up if you don’t come with us. It’s gonna be the easy way or it’s gonna be the hard way but you’re gonna fucking come with us. There’s no other way around it, okay?”

“There’s no other way?” he asked, laughing loosely as he shook his head. The voices unleashed themselves, an awful symphony of violent desire, the absolute crippling, craving for bloodshed, harmonising with the sound of Techno unsheathing his blade. “I choose blood.”

Pandemonium broke out, and Techno feasted upon it.

Fundy came for him first as the four men shouted to each other in panic. The voices distorted into mere whimpers and washed-out cries as Techno ran across the snow, white spraying as his sword twirled in his hand. Fundy’s axe came up to meet his blade, metal scratching against each other in a match of strength. Too bad the guy was almost a foot shorter than Techno.

Using his blade, he twisted Fundy’s weapon down, edge slicing down into the snow instead. Fundy stumbled, and Techno used the opportunity to smash his elbow into his face. Blood erupted, and Fundy smashed to the ground with the force of it, groaning and spluttering on his own bloodied spit.

Spinning, his eyes narrowed in on Tubbo next, watching in his fighting crouch as the kid ran at him. Licking his lips, fingers twitching over his own weapon in elation, Techno took smooth, specific steps backwards, eyes never leaving the boy running towards him.

He inhaled when he felt his foot hit the ice. He grinned when Tubbo faltered, laughed when he started up again, sword slashing through the air, brown hair swaying in the wind. He let the voices consume him as Tubbo leapt up into the air, blade above his head, casting shadows across the frozen pond.

Techno’s blade met Tubbo’s in the air. And so, the dance started.

The younger man snarled as he pushed forward, all the caution and hesitance that had constantly covered the boy’s face in the last war completely wiped. His brows lowered as he met each one of Techno’s attacks, jaw trembling with concentration. The ice beneath them continued to break under their weight, and cracks shot out under their boots, creaking with each heavy step.

Grunting, he scowled as Tubbo tried to slide away, dropping to his knees frantically, unable to push back Techno’s stronger parries. Before the boy could slip away and make it back to his feet, ready to continue fighting, Techno’s hand snatched out, fingers twisting around the boy’s collar.

Tubbo cried out in pain as Techno dragged him back across the ice and then hauled him up into the air. His legs dangled, toes barely scraping the ice. Water lined his eyes and he finally dropped his sword when Techno snarled, the metal hitting against the ice, fingers unfurling before they gripped onto Techno’s hand, desperately trying to dig into his knuckles, desperately trying to break skin as the boy kicked and thrashed in his hold.

“Technoblade, stop! Stop right now.”

He sighed at the sound of Quackity’s voice, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he let Tubbo crumple to the ground with a growl. Quackity was sitting on Carl, blade pushed against the horse’s throat, dark eyes clouded over as he glared at Technoblade.

“What are you doing with that horse?” he demanded as he walked across the ice, tightening his fingers into fists when Quackity shook his head as soon as his foot met the snow again.

“Get away from them,” was all Quackity shouted. Techno rose his hands in mock innocence, watching absentmindedly as the new kid sprinted over to Tubbo who was lying crumpled up on the ice, chest rising and falling shakily.

“Pull any shit and I kill this horse.”

“The horse is innocent,” Techno said as Fundy walked up beside Quackity, scowling as blood caked his teeth. “Leave the horse alone.”

“Technoblade, if you don’t cooperate with us, I’m gonna kill this horse,” Quackity told him, and Techno’s back stiffened as Tubbo and the kid walked past him, red marks already forming over Tubbo’s pale neck. He got his first proper look at the new guy as he passed, purposefully keeping his eyes away from Techno. His green and red eyes. Interesting.

“What do you want?” he finally said, glancing up at Quackity with an arched brow.

“Drop your shit,” Quackity ordered, and Techno wanted to slash that stupid fucking smirk off of the idiot’s face. But he couldn’t risk Carl being injured, so he threw his blade into the snow. And then his two axes, as well as the potions stuffed in his pockets. He dropped everything but the totem, secure at his side.

“Just come peacefully,” Quackity said as Fundy and the other one picked up his weapons. He chewed down on his cheek as he watched them touch his things, _his_ weapons.

“You guys came in full netherite, talkin' about peace. _You’re_ the government and you’re _threatenin'_ me?” He shrugged with a sigh as he tilted his head to meet the President’s eyes. “Nice justice, Tubbo,” he said as he held his hands out, allowing Fundy to tie them with rope. And when the auburn hair man tugged, causing Techno to stumble and almost eat shit, he bit down on a snarl.

“I’m doing what I have to,” was all Tubbo said, voice broken and words cracking. But his eyes were set as Techno started to walk, without weapons and without any allies.

No one spoke until they finally reached L’Manberg, and even then, it was only for Fundy to direct him. Quackity was still on Carl as they herded him like an animal into the new city. He had to admit that the craftmanship was well done, as he glanced over the city built on top of the lake. Was nicer than the place he’d blown up at least.

He clenched his jaw tightly as Fundy and Tubbo brought him into the town square. Ignoring the massive crowd of people who were all screaming at him, pointing and spitting as they threw curses and insults, he snorted at the wanted posters plastered all over the buildings. His own face frowned back at him as he passed, Fundy elbowing him in the back when he didn’t walk quick enough. Crinkling his nose, he kept glancing at the posters even as he was pushed up onto a stage, the rope cutting painfully into his wrists.

They didn’t get his hair quite right, and his nose wasn’t at all that crooked, but he supposed he couldn’t really blame them. It had been a while since any of them had seen him. Last seen him coated in ash and dried, crusting blood, out of his fucking mind after watching one brother kill the other, and then trying to murder everyone else who had survived.

Still, his nose had never been _that_ crooked.

“You actually got him.”

One voice cut through the mindless hum of hate directed right at him, and Techno’s head snapped to the side. Phil was standing on a balcony, leaning over the wooden fence, looking like he would jump off to get to Techno if it wouldn’t break his legs.

A relieved smile broke out across his face as he tried to fight against Fundy’s hold on him. “Phil!” he yelled, voice desperate as he tried to be louder that the mob. “What did they do to you?”

“I can’t leave,” he answered, blond hair dancing in the wind as he leaned over, shaking his head slowly. “I would’ve missed dinner,” he said, trying to laugh as they stared at each other, Phil chained to his house and Techno standing trial in front of a whole city who wanted him dead. Techno didn’t feel like laughing at all. He felt like killing everyone where they stood. A slaughter, a massacre. He wanted their blood to leak into the lake below, wanted to stain it crimson.

“Get in the cage,” Quackity said leaning in so Techno could hear him over the roar. He glanced to his side, eyes running over the iron cage that had been set up in the middle of the stage. “Leave him alone,” he heard Phil cry out from above. Quackity’s eyes flicked up, but he ignored Phil as he stood in front of Technoblade, waiting. Fundy untied his wrists but held onto his shoulders tightly. Techno resisted the urge to smash his fist into his face.

“I need a chance to defend myself,” he said. “What kind of court is this?”

“Get in the cage,” Quackity snarled, and Techno didn’t even know why he’d even bothered asking him as Fundy shoved him in anyway, locking the door behind him with a smug grin.

“I can’t help but feel like the whole trial thin' here is a farce,” Technoblade snarled as he leaned his face close towards Quackity’s, curling his fingers around the bars.

“This is not actually a trial,” Quackity said with a click of the tongue. “This is an execution,” he smiled, voice dropping into a smooth whisper. Techno refused to speak, curling his lips as Quackity pulled away. Technoblade was pushed to his knees by Fundy’s hand on his shoulder through the metal bars.

Quackity smiled down at him, shaking his head once before, in a louder voice, he turned to address the crowd, arms spread out wide. He should’ve seen that the guy was power-hungry before now. No sane person could have put up with Schlatt for that long if they weren’t trying to get something out of it. No matter how close they were. Quackity wanted L’Manberg, that much was clear, but he’d be surprised if that was where Quackity was planning on stopping. He’d been scummy from the get-go. For fuck’s sake, he’d been training to be a lawyer.

Technoblade didn’t listen to the bullshit he was spouting, instead glancing right above him to see an anvil danglingly from a precariously hanging structure. He found himself stepping away from the bars, hands falling to his side as his throat bobbed. Well. This wasn’t a great situation he’d found himself in.

“Technoblade has robbed our country, robbed it of everything that made it special, everything that defined what it was,” Tubbo’s voice echoed around the square, and Techno could help but roll his eyes. “He steps in when he shouldn’t, and he creates chaos, he ruined the Government.”

A scream of panic sounded, cutting Tubbo’s speech off. Techno lurched forward, trying to see what was happening as the crowd erupted into flames of alarm. He squinted through the metal bars, frowning as he saw Punz weaving through the crowd, all armoured up and grinning like a madman. And then Techno saw the sticks of dynamite in his hands, and his jaw hung open in surprise.

“Get his ass!” Quackity cried out, leaping down from the platform as he unsheathed his sword. Techno watched on as Punz continued to create mass chaos, dropping his forehead against the cool metal. “I’ll just sit here then,” he murmured, glancing to his side.

He looked up at Phil, who was watching in on horror, struggling painfully against the chains around his ankles. He wished he could shout up and tell his friend that it was going to be alright, that it was going to be okay, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t give himself away. Even if it meant having to watch the tears that clung to Phil’s jaw, as he watched Phil think he was about to watch another his other brother die.

As his own breathing started to turn shaky, his gaze dropped, and he blinked as Wilbur grinned back up at him. He had no idea how Will had managed to get so close to the stage, especially with a blue sheep in tow.

“I named him friend,” the ghost giggled, fingers curling through the sheep’s wool.

“That’s great, Wilbur,” Techno nodded, and despite himself, found a smile curling up onto his own lips. That was until Tubbo sprinted past him, eyes falling onto Techno kneeling in the cage, and he seemed to remember that Punz wasn’t the issue at hand here.

“Pull the lever, Q!” Tubbo yelled, voice still hoarse and scratchy, but commanding. Technoblade’s breathing hitched, and he watched as Quackity nodded, darting back towards the stage.

Techno’s hands slid under his cape, and as he pulled the totem out of his pocket, he hung his head. He’d never prayed before, but sitting there on his knees, hair brushing against his skin and wind breathing against his neck, about to have an anvil dropped onto his head and not knowing whether this damned totem would even work, he prayed to his God.

“Blood for the Blood God,” he muttered under his breath as he cradled the totem to his chest. Closing his eyes, the air around him seemed to turn thick, murky. Too solid. But despite the discomfort, he stayed where he was, fingers flat against the cool gold. He felt the anvil as it passed through his body, and although it didn’t necessarily hurt, he felt bile rise up in his throat at the sensation that shot through his muscles, through his veins as the metal tried its best to smash his bones.

Choking the sick down, Techno’s eyes flashed open. And immediately fell on a masked man, sitting on his horse. A snarl ripping from his mouth, Techno pulled himself up and out of the cage, dropping off of the podium and onto the grass into a crouch. He could hear a blend of voices calling after him: Will, Phil, Quackity and Tubbo. But he ignored them all as he sprinted after Dream, who better not be trying to steal his fucking horse.

He chased after Dream into a tunnel carved into the side of a hill, steps faltering slightly as Dream stood in the middle, holding onto Carl’s lead. The man was wearing his mask, and Techno stiffened, inhaling sharply as he forced himself to pose his face into his regular stance. Cold indifference, with a slight side of violent desire.

“What’s going on 'ere?” he asked smoothly, fingers instinctively reaching down for his sword, when he remembered that they’d fucking taken it. He bit down on his teeth, watching as Dream dropped Carl’s lead, sliding his hands into his pockets. He wondered if Dream knew he knew. Or maybe Dream thought Techno knew a lot more than he did, maybe he suspected that Techno had figured it out.

Which he positively had not. Maybe he would’ve had a little more time to investigate Dream’s little eye problems if people would just leave him alone for once.

“Head down,” Dream finally said, and Techno took that as approval to move. He snatched onto Carl’s lead, tugging the horse away from Dream. Carl whinnied, nudging into Techno’s neck with his snout. “There’s a chest with shit for you,” Dream told him, but Techno was too concerned with checking over his horse for any injuries. When he turned back, mouth open to ask why Dream had helped him, the man was gone, leaving him and Carl alone.

Sighing, he decided to throw caution to the wind, and go out on a limb and trust Dream. The totem had worked, after all. And if Dream had been serious about what he’d said, about wanting Techno in his game or whatever cryptic shit the man liked to spout, he supposed his only choice was to trust the man.

He led Carl further into the room, glancing around guardedly. It had clearly been constructed years ago, black stone crumbling, the chests lined against the walls chipped and coated in thick layers of dust. He started searching through them, scowling and silently cursing Dream when all he found was cobwebs and dead insects in each. As he went to pull back, intending to forget all about the chest, he caught a glimpse of something scratched into the wood.

Blowing away the dust, his fingers brushed over the carving, lips forming into surprised frown. Tommy’s name was etched into the wood, albeit badly. Why the hell was Tommy’s name on the chest? Glancing to the side, Techno used his cape to wipe all the dust off of the chest to his right, wincing as a dark grey streak stained the blue fabric.

Tubbo’s name looked up at him. Pushing himself to his feet, he stepped back into the middle of the room, slowly turning in a circle until his eyes fell on a specific chest. Unlike the others, it wasn’t licked with grime, the golden latches gleaming in the dark. He crouched down in front of it, brows lowering as he read his own name. It was clearly done by a different person who had carved the rest of the chests, the letters neat and printed.

“ _Dream_ ,” Techno hissed under his breath as he unlatched the chest. A netherite pickaxe shown up at him, as well as scraps of iron armour, a few ender pearls and a parcel of food. He grabbed the pick, spinning it in his fingers, and shoved the pearls into his pockets, electing to forego the armour. Turning back to Carl, he ran his hand over the horse’s mane one more time before he took the lead in his fingers and started off down the tunnel.

He only got a couple of feet before the leash snapped. Eyes wide, he spun back to Carl, slight panic gripping him as he tried to coax the horse down the tunnel. “Come on, boy,” he begged, wincing as Carl just blinked back at him. “Come on,” he pleaded as footsteps sounded around the room, rushed and unrhythmic. Not Dream’s steady, falling steps. Great. This was just so great.

“Carl,” he groaned, freezing when a figure ran into the room. Quackity halted in his steps when his eyes fell on Technoblade, and then subsequently, the pick in his hand.

“What the fuck is this, Techno?” he shouted, voice bouncing off of the walls. “What the hell are you doing?”

Techno laughed awkwardly as he stepped around Carl, nudging the horse further down the tunnel as he shook his head at Quackity. “This is not what it looks like,” he tried, but as Quackity started walking towards him, it didn’t seem like the guy was going to listen to anything that he wanted to say.

“How did that anvil not kill you?” he demanded, dark eyes narrowing.

“Quackity, did you really think you could kill me that easily?” he asked, feeling a bit sorry for the guy as he unsheathed his sword. Did Quackity not know what he was getting himself into, or was he just a fool, willing to die for a chance at power? He wondered how long it would be until his friends came to find him. If they would find a corpse or not. If Quackity was going to force Techno’s hand like this.

“How did you even do that?”

“You think death can stop me, Quackity?” he barked out, stepping away from Carl as he ran his fingers along the pick’s edge. “No, you know what, you know what, I 'ave a few things to say,” he started, holding out a hand to stop Quackity from doing anything. “I was gonna say it at the trial, but we got a little bit interrupted,” he grinned, tusks bared. “Quackity, I tried convincin' you that government was not the answer, that it was the cause of all your problems, alright?”

His voice was tired, frustrated, a build-up from the months of isolation, of having to carry his dead brother’s corpse for a day before he thought he was far enough away from L’Manberg and this shitshow that him and Wilbur could finally rest. A build-up of having to hear everything from Phil, and not wanting to hear any of it, at the same time as desperately wanting to understand everything. A build-up of the irritation of having shown these idiots what happened with governments, and them still proceeding to create one. With an eighteen-year-old as their head of state.

“I tried to show you guys by fightin' alongside you all as brothers, and then you casted me aside. You _used_ me. I tried to use force, and you _still_ formed a government. And then when I went into hidin', when I retired, you hunted me down! You hurt my friend,” he snarled wildly, the shame of abandoning Phil to his house washing over him.

“You don’t understand Techno,” Quackity responded, and Techno hated it when he said his name. The voices started to get louder as Quackity stepped towards him. “You don’t understand what we’re trying to build here.”

“The only thing you’re tryin' to build is your own power.”

“This is not a simple anarchy thing, okay?” Quackity shouted, voice finally betraying the wild rage Techno could see living under his skin. “This is what you’ve got to understand, Techno. You really think I give a shit about the withers? No! No, you’re on the hitlist, Techno. You’re on the fucking hitlist.”

“What hitlist?” he breathed, skin crawling as Quackity continued to walk towards him.

“I’m building a country here. And I do not care how long what it takes, I’m going to fucking get you, Techno. I’m going to fucking kill you, Technoblade.”

_Blood for the Blood God **. He is asking for it**. He thinks he can take us on. **This grimy rat thinks he is enough for us.**_

“I just 'ave one question, Quackity.”

“What?” Quackity snarled, pausing in his tracks as dark eyes flicked up to meet eyes painted in blood.

“Do you think you’re enough to kill me? I’m unarmed, unarmoured. Do you think you can take me?”

Quackity didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, I do.”

When Techno didn’t respond, wincing slightly as the voices screamed terribly in his head, cursing and begging for Quackity’s blood to be spilled. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, but Quackity had followed him down, had practically asked him to do this. The voices would be fed.

“You know what?” Techno turned to see Quackity running the last few feet towards him. “Let’s find out, you sick son of a-”

Techno’s laughter echoed around the room as he dug into his pockets before Quackity’s blade met his skin, throwing an ender pearl on the other side of the room. “Sike,” he whispered as Quackity spun on his heels, jaw twitching.

“You have to use pearls, eh?” The shorter man bit back, as they circled each other slowly.

“I have a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your teeth, Quackity,” Techno breathed. Quackity exhaled slowly, and then he moved. Techno caught his blade’s edge with his pick, slamming it down and spinning out of Quackity’s way.

“You’ve done so much fucking damage to our country, Techno.” Clouds of dust kicked up underneath their boots as they fought, Techno continuously pushing Quackity back as the man tried to slice into him, furious and feral. Admittedly, Quackity had gotten better than when he’d last seen him fight, and he was guessing it had something to do with Sapnap living with him. But while he was better, he was not the Blood God.

“You’ve ruined everything we’ve tried to build from the start. So, if there’s one fight I’m planning on winning, it’s this one. Let’s go, baby.” Techno sighed as Quackity brought his sword upwards, point aimed towards Techno’s side. Goddamn, this guy just did not shut the hell up. He stuck his own boot out as Quackity lurched towards him, and tugged, smirking when Quackity stumbled. Before the other man could catch himself, Techno brough his foot up and shoved it into his stomach, Quackity wheezing in pain before his back hit the floor.

Technoblade hesitated, fingers flexing around his pick’s handle. He had made a promise, he told himself as he spun it in his fingers, watching Quackity’s eyes widen with terror. And he had never backed out of a promise.

_Blood for the Blood God._

His ears rang as he brought the pickaxe up over his head, a deafening, sick crunching sound screaming out as he brough the point down into Quackity’s face. The man screamed, an animalistic, guttural scream that shattered through the man’s writhing body. Technoblade didn’t hang around to watch as immense amounts of blood spilled through the man’s cracked and split face.

Feet hitting against the floor, Techno ran, leaving Quackity’s dying, deflating body behind, whistling for Carl to follow. “We’ve got to go, buddy,” he said breathlessly to his horse, blood from the pick dripping down onto his fingers.

“Quackity?” He heard a distant voice cry out. “Quackity, you good?” The new kid. He paused, Carl hesitating beside him too. He licked his lips, the voices while satisfied, aching for more.

_Kill the rest. **Kill them all.** Blood for the Blood God. **They thought they could execute us.** Kill them all. **Blood for the Blood God.**_

Shaking his head, he pushed himself forward. He had to go. He wouldn’t be able to kill them all. Not with just a pickaxe. No, he needed to go home.

He snaked his way through the sewers, choking down the repulsive smell as he splashed through the tunnels, Carl at his side. They came out at the edge of a hill, the dirty water splashing right into the ocean below them. Technoblade bit down his comments on how hygienic that could possibly be and hauled himself up onto Carl, squeezing his legs on the horse before it took off into a gallop.

Techno didn’t let himself fully breathe until they made it to the familiar tundra, Carl slowing down as his hooves met the snow. Letting a shaky laugh fall from his lips, he fell forward onto Carl’s back, forehead pressed against the horse as he just let it take him home.

Night was already falling, the sky streaked with darkness as the familiar pummel of smoke appeared, drifting into the stars. He hesitated when Carl trotted up to the house, fingers stilling in his mane as Techno’s eyes fell on the doors that led into his basement. The doors that were wide open, rattling against the stone wall.

His feet hit the snow with a crunch, and he raised the pickaxe up, Quackity’s dried blood painted across the edge. He paused in front of the door, fingers twitching as he saw a shadowy figure standing in his room, holding blankets in its arms.

“I’m givin' you five seconds before this pickaxe goes through your skull,” Techno called out, cocking his head as he watched the figure’s body still. It was impossibly skinny, and he might’ve thought it was a skeleton who had broken in somehow if it wasn’t for the mop of hair on the person’s head.

He watched as the figure dropped the blankets onto the floor, and slowly turned to face him, holding up its hands in surrender. Techno stepped inside, eyes narrowing as he looked over the person in front of him.

The torches sent fleeting golden light over the body, illuminating the bruises littering skin, and the absolute paleness of the person. Techno’s eyes flicked up, red clashing against blue. And he let the pick fall from his fingers, hitting the stone floor with a clash.

“'Ow do, Techno?” Tommy smiled, voice almost unrecognisably hoarse and broken. His smile was too wide for his now too skinny, too frail face. Before Technoblade could do anything, before he could say anything, Tommy’s eyes glassed over, rolling backwards before his knees buckled, and he collapsed in on himself.

Techno moved quickly, skidding to his knees as he caught the kid in his arms. He was lighter than he should've been, and as Technoblade frowned down at the boy's face, his chest squeezed painfully. What the fuck had happened since he’d gone into retirement?


	18. Now You See Me, Now You Don't

“You’re one hell of a dumb fucking broad.”

Schlatt was sat in front of him, one leg thrown over the other, a cigarette in his fingers. Quackity shuddered, suddenly gagging in his mouth. Pressing a fist against his lips as he choked it down, he glanced over his shoulder, a slow terror whispering over his body. He had no idea where the fuck he was. There was only darkness, as far as he could see. Everything was dark, apart from Schlatt, sitting in a chair that looked suspiciously like his old throne. Schlatt was bright, brighter than anything Quackity had ever seen before, light rippling off of the man in buckets.

“Where am I?” Quackity asked, slowly bringing his hand away from his lips when he was sure he wasn’t about to throw up his guts. Schlatt cocked his head at him from where he sat, smirk faltering. He seemed different. The old suit, stained in alcohol and blood and loneliness was gone, replaced with loose jeans and a blue sweater. Schlatt looked the most unlike himself Quackity had ever seen. But this wasn’t Schlatt. Because Schlatt was dead. He pressed his fingers against his temples, rubbing slightly as he breathed in. He was dreaming. This was all in his own head.

“Does it matter?” Schlatt shrugged, taking one last inhale from the cigarette before he stood up, the chair melting into the surrounding darkness. Quackity’s whole body went taunt as he watched Schlatt flick the cigarette onto the ground, stamping it out with his beige boots. “Look, I don’t know how much time you got here, sweetheart, so I’ll make it quick.”

“This is all in my head,” Quackity said, not sure who he was trying to convince; the Schlatt who was wearing a pale blue sweater or himself. “You’re not real.”

Schlatt just rolled his eyes, boots hitting off of the nothingness he was walking on, pausing only inches away from Quackity. He braced himself for the smell of alcohol to drown him, but it never came. Just cedarwood and the slight twinge of smoke. Why the fuck had his head come up with this warped version of Schlatt? With a younger, softer Schlatt, who looked like he actually washed himself.

“You shouldn’t have tried to fight Technoblade,” Schlatt snorted, yellow eyes flickering over Quackity. Fuck. Technoblade. The bastard had managed to escaped somehow, had somehow managed to survive an anvil smashing into his fucking skull. And he’d returned the favour. Quackity bit back a whimper as he remembered the explosive pain that had screamed out across his face, as Technoblade had grinned above him, tusks gleaming in the light as the pickaxe cracked through bone.

“Now you’ve ruined that pretty face of yours.”

“What?” Quackity stuttered out, but when his fingers drifted up to touch his face, touch where Schlatt’s eyes were pinned onto, his fingers passed right through, like moving through smoke. “What the fuck is happening?” he cried out, stepping away from Schlatt. “You’re dead,” he hissed, pointing out a shaking finger. Then his head tightened, and a slow, creeping dread gripped his throat. “Am _I_ dead? Is this hell?”

He blinked when Schlatt just laughed loudly, clutching his stomach. “You’re not dead, Alex,” Schlatt said as he straightened up, wide and amused grin still plastered on his face. “As for your second question, I have no idea.”

“Why am I here?” Quackity breathed, figuring that he might as well go along with whatever fucked nightmare his brain was trapping him in. Even if he fucking hated the way Schlatt said his name. Like he had when they were friends, best friends even. Before Schlatt had lost his fucking mind, and tried to drag Quackity down with him, nails digging into skin, drawing blood as he kicked and thrashed.

“I brought you here,” Schlatt answered simply. Quackity’s lips parted, eyes widening as he frowned in question. “I’ve been trying to for a while. I don’t know why it decided to suddenly work now. But I guess that shit doesn't matter. Look, I brought you here to warn you about Dream.”

Quackity bit back all the questions that suffocated him, the questions he’d wanted to ask Schlatt ever since he’d died. Primarily why, why he’d done what he did to their friendship, why he’d done what he had to Quackity, why he hadn’t ever fought for him as much as he’d fought for Schlatt. But this was not Schlatt.

“What about him?” Quackity asked drily instead, rolling his shoulders back.

Schlatt hummed, sliding his hands into his front pockets. “I fucked up,” he said, voice as honest and open as Quackity had ever heard it. “When I was alive. I gave Dream…I did shit I shouldn’t have,” he admitted, scratching the side of his arm. It had been a while since Quackity had seen Schlatt like this. Unsure, uncertain. He almost looked scared. 

“And while it might’ve been pretty fucking cool to see when I was alive, I’m not. And it’s gotten a bit fucked.”

“Cut to the fucking chase, asshole,” Quackity snarled, taking a step closer. Schlatt blinked down at him, jaw unhinging before he smiled, teeth gleaming as he nodded.

“Dream’s not mortal anymore. He’s split his soul.”

“ _What_?” Quackity exhaled shakily, head shaking instinctively.

“Quackity, look. You need to go see Tommy, okay?” Schlatt said, voice slightly frantic. Quackity’s vision blurred, head tilting when Schlatt grabbed onto his arms. His stomach clenched, and he started to feel the invisible ground beneath him crumbling away. He stumbled back, body sinking as if they were underwater. But Schlatt snarled, pulling Quackity closer to him as they both started to fall through nothing, the ebbing darkness breathing against Quackity’s skin.

“You don’t understand, Q,” Schlatt was saying, but Quackity could barely make out the words he was forming. He winced, head pounding, a horrible, etching throbbing snaking its way across the right side of his face. “Tommy’s…”

The familiar voice trailed off, fading into whispers in a language Quackity couldn’t understand. He continued falling, Schlatt’s fingers deteriorating into flakes of ash, drifting away as the man’s body was swallowed up by the darkness. Quackity tried to cry out for him, arms flailing around, but Schlatt was gone, and Quackity was alone, the darkness clawing across his face, digging in and shredding his skin.

He woke up covered in a sheen of sweat, panicked and hands moving around, desperately searching for something, anything, he could grip onto, just so he could know this was reality, that it had all been a dream and he was alright. Schlatt was gone and his skin wasn’t being slashed apart and he was alive, and he was breathing.

One singular voice cut through the panic, and Quackity felt something threading through his fingers. Panting heavily, he blinked furiously, trying desperately to figure out where he was. He finally managed to catch onto dark eyes, and he didn’t let go.

“Breathe,” the person was saying, squeezing his fingers softly. The person’s fingers were larger than his, and coated in callouses, the weight and feel of them familiar against his own skin. “You’ve got to breathe, Q,” the man said, and Quackity felt himself nodding, hair flopping in front of his face. As his chest rose and fell rhythmically, Sapnap became less blurry in front of him, face coming into focus, scraggly beard and furrowed brows in all its glory.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, Quackity just continuing to grip onto Sapnap’s hands as hard as he could as he felt his heart rattle around in his ribcage like a rock. “What happened?” he asked, frowning when his voice came out frail, the words stringing out of his mouth painfully.

“Techno got you pretty bad, Q,” Sapnap murmured, throwing him that crooked smile in a pitiful attempt to elevate the thick air in the room. But Sapnap just looked sad, especially when he squeezed Quackity’s fingers again, biting down on his bottom lip. “You’ve been out for a bit over a day.”

“Sap,” Quackity said shakily, horror coating his tongue as realisation slowly dawned on him as he peered up at the other man. “I can’t see. Out of my right eye.” Sapnap just nodded gently, face falling as Quackity’s jaw trembled awkwardly. “Can I see?” he asked, voice catching.

Sapnap hesitated, but nodded eventually, hair loose and untied framing his face as he moved. Quackity stayed where he was as he unthreaded their fingers, watching as Sapnap stood off of the bed he was sitting in, blankets bundled around his legs. “Where’s Karl?” he asked as Sapnap rooted around the cupboard that was pressed against the wall. The room seemed otherwise bare, and it took Quackity a moment to realise that he was in the infirmary.

“I don’t know,” Sapnap said, his back stiffening and fingers digging into the wood as he paused. Quackity didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice, the restrained anger, but he didn’t comment on it. “He disappeared during the execution, and I’ve not seen him since,” he elaborated as he turned back to Quackity, spinning a mirror in his fingers.

He reached out for it, shuffling further on the mattress, but Sapnap held it back until Quackity looked up to meet pained eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me. And it’s not gonna matter to Karl either.”

Quackity bit down on his cheek, eyes dropping to his folded legs, reaching his fingers out. “Give me the damn mirror, Sapnap,” he said without looking up, inhaling sharply when it was pressed into his hand.

Letting out a loose breath, he shut his eyes for a moment. Schlatt had known somehow. Had known that his face had been fucked, that Technoblade had beaten him. But it had to have all been in his head, right? It had to have been a dream, his brain trying to tell him some weird psychological shit. Right? Because if it hadn’t been a dream…

Quackity’s eyes flashed open, clicking his tongue as he met his own reflection.

Well, if it hadn’t been a dream, which it was starting to look more possible, Quackity had some shit to figure out.

His right eye was washed with a white sheen, broken pupil now a bleached blue, sharp against his tanned skin. There was a massive gash down the whole side of his face, from the top of his head right to his chin. His eyebrow had been sliced, and there was a deep indent in his lips. He opened his mouth, running his fingers along his teeth until he came to the new gap. He was honestly surprised Techno had only taken out one tooth.

He tried to find a phrase that would release everything knotting in his chest.

Tracing his fingers down the neat line of stitches, running down his face, he lowered the mirror. Sapnap was looking at him expectantly, brows arched as he waited for a reaction. Quackity shot him a loose grin, shrugging as the mirror dropped onto his lap. “I think I still look hot as shit.”

Sapnap laughed, more in relief than actual amusement, but Quackity was just happy to see the tenseness flood from the other man’s body. He leaned forward, cupping Quackity’s face with his hands, dropping their foreheads together after he pressed a kiss to the side of his face where there wasn’t an angry red line painted across his skin.

“Never do something like that again,” Sapnap murmured, skin flushed against Quackity’s cool and slightly clammy face. “Don’t fucking take on a legendary warrior on your own ever again.”

“Well, I _almost_ had him,” Quackity objected with a grin, blowing hot air onto Sapnap’s face when he pulled back.

“Idiot,” Sap snorted, letting Quackity flick him on the nose. The amusement fell from his face, replaced with apprehension, but when he went to speak, Quackity holding onto his shoulder in encouragement, there was a knock on the door.

Sapnap sighed, but he stood up anyway, Quackity’s hand falling through the air. “Why are you here, again?” Sapnap growled as he opened the door, but Quackity couldn’t see who was there. He tried pushing himself up onto his hands to peer over Sapnap’s looming body, but instead of replying to Sapnap, a teenager was pushing past, grinning brightly at Quackity on the bed.

“You’re awake!” The boy laughed, clapping his hands together. Quackity just blinked at him before he looked to Sap for some help, but the taller man was just shaking his head from where he stood against the door.

“I’m Jack,” the kid said as he walked over to Quackity. He held out a hand, wriggling his fingers until Quackity shook it, blinking down at his own fingers when he pulled away. “Jack Manifold.”

“Okay?” Quackity shrugged, frowning when the kid got closer to him, peering at his stitches. He was wearing glasses, each lens a different colour. Dark eyes sparkled back at him through red and blue glasses, making the bright eyes more sinister than they first appeared.

“What the hell, man?” he snarled when fingers came up to touch his face, batting Jack’s hands away.

“I’m the healer,” Jack said, slightly confused, as if Quackity was being the weird one here. As if Jack shouldn’t have led with that information.

“Oh, okay,” Quackity nodded, still leaning back against the wall when Jack got closer, not really wanting some random kid touching him. “So, you did all _this_?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

“Yep,” Jack nodded, running a hand over his clipped hair. “Was a hard job mate, I’ll tell you that for free. You lost a shit ton of blood. This one thought you were gonna fucking die,” he laughed wildly, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder to Sapnap, who looked like he was trying profusely to block out Jack’s voice.

“Honestly,” Jack continued, seeming far too casual for someone who’d just had to sew up Quackity’s face a day ago. “I thought you might die. But here you are, mate,” he grinned, slapping a hand across Quackity’s back. He winced, biting down a yelp of pain as he leaned forward, arms reaching up to touch his face as a sting throbbed across his skin.

“Ah, shit, sorry about that. You’re probably gonna hurt for a couple days. And the whole eye thing might take a bit of getting used to. I can tell you from experience that it gets better though,” he grinned, tapping the glasses that rested on his face. Before Quackity could even ask what that was supposed to mean, Jack was backing away from the bed, smiling down at him. “So, I’d just get yourself home and rest up, alright? You’re gonna have to come back soon so I can take those,” he nodded with his head towards Quackity’s face, and the stitches imbedded in his skin. “Out. You’re pretty drugged up right now, but fair warning mate, shit’s gonna hurt when it wears off.”

“Right,” Quackity nodded along, just wanting Jack to leave him and Sap alone again, not really caring about the pain he might feel when he could still feel Schlatt’s breath running through his body, that controlling, endless darkness that had tried to choke the life out of him swimming in his head.

Just as Jack looked like he might leave, shouldering himself further into the ugly blue jacket he was wearing, seriously it was so horrendous Quackity reckoned it could easily fit into the massive collection Karl had at home, Sapnap shouted from where he was standing at the door. Both of their heads snapped in Sapnap’s direction, Quackity scrambling out of his bed as Sapnap walked outside, leaning over the staircase that led up to the room.

“Hey!” Sapnap was screaming. Quackity chased after him, squealing in pain when the cold wind hit his raw face, skin aching already. Someone had taken him out of his own clothes, his familiar jumper and jeans gone and replaced with plain cotton pyjamas that scratched against his skin and did little to keep the biting cold out. His bare feet hit against the cobblestone ground that paved the city, ignoring the way his body felt like it wasn’t his own, like his head had been stitched into some new vessel, as he trailed Sapnap.

“Hey, Mr President!” the taller man called, cruel sarcasm leaking from his tongue. Quackity’s face paled as he followed Sapnap as he yelled after Tubbo, who was walking through L’Manberg with a distant, faraway look on his face. Sapnap had been doing his best in L’Manberg.

He wasn’t picking fights, even though Quackity could tell that every time someone glanced at him for too long, or out and out spat insults at him, calling him a traitor and a murderer, Sapnap wanted to bash someone’s head in with his bare fists. He sat in front of the fireplace, watching the soft flames, his own flint and steel clicking against each other rhythmically in his fingers, but the flames stayed captured in their own reflection in dark eyes, never escaping. As far as Sapnap went, he was acting like a level-headed civilian.

But he had a grudge against Tubbo. He refused to be in the same room as the kid, would immediately turn on his heels if they ever came across him in town. Karl and Quackity knew not to bring his name up at home. And while he didn’t fully know what it was about Tubbo that riled Sap up, he’d always known it was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan.

Tubbo only paused in his tracks when Sapnap gripped onto his shoulder, looking up with a blank expression on his face. “Where the hell have you been?” Sapnap growled out, voice low. “It’s almost been two days.”

Tubbo didn’t respond, blinking up at Sapnap. “As much as I might hate it, you’re the fucking President of this shitshow, Tubbo. So, when _you_ plan an execution, and the guy escapes and almost fucking murders your Vice President, you do _not_ abandon your team.” Sapnap snarled out viciously when Tubbo didn’t respond, merely shaking his head lightly.

Quackity gripped onto Sap’s arm, tugging him away from the kid before he could do anything rash. “Where the fuck were you?” Sapnap was practically screaming at this point, easily shoving Quackity off of him. “Where the fuck did you _go_ , Tubbo?”

Something seemed to snap in the younger boy as Sapnap berated him, and he fisted his hair with his fingers, screwing his eyes shut as he yelled. “Tommy’s dead!” His jaw was trembling, whole body trembling as he stood there, eyes pressed tightly shut, fingers trying to rip his own hair out of his skull.

Sapnap shut up at that, eyes widening in shock as he stared down at Tubbo. “I went to see Tommy,” Tubbo said, voice quieter as he blinked open his eyes. Schlatt’s voice whispered against Quackity’s ear, reminding him of what he’d said in his dream, and once again, he felt bile rise up in his throat. _Quackity, look. You need to go see Tommy, okay?_

It hadn’t been a dream. Somehow, something out there somewhere, had tried to warn him about Tommy. And they’d been too late. A burning emptiness seized him, and although he gasped out, the broken sobs of grief that racked through him couldn’t escape, trapped by his wounded mouth.

“He’s dead. He killed himself,” Tubbo choked out, walking past Sapnap and Quackity. His steps were faltering, a tragic sight as he stumbled forward. He was cradling something in his fingers, but it was too small for Quackity to make out what it was. Tubbo’s shoulders shook as he held it to his chest, murmuring under his breath before he disappeared through the winding, dark, cold lanes of L’Manberg. “I went to see Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos and comments guys, it seriously makes my day! im super proud of this chapter in particular for some reason, so I hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing :D


	19. Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they say its not a brother moment but its totally a brother moment

The first thing that Tommy thought when he woke up, was that he was more comfortable than he’d been in months. His back cracked as he sat up, experimentally pushing the heels of his hands into the mattress he was lying on. A sigh escaped his lips as the weight of how fucked his body really was sank in. Resisting the urge to lie back down, wrap the soft red blanket around him and bury his face in so he could just sleep for the rest of his life, let everything and everyone fuck themselves over while he just lay there, he pushed himself up.

His feet hit the floor, and he winced at the feeling, taking a moment to prepare himself before he put his full weight on them. Groaning, he screwed his eyes shut, but forced himself to take another step forward. With each step, it felt like his flesh was being ripped apart, iron nails digging right through his feet. But he kept going, blinking one eye open at a time as he hovered at the landing.

He didn’t remember getting into the bed behind him, which was now a mess of blankets and strewn pillows, which only meant one thing. He couldn’t hear Technoblade as he leaned over the open staircase, fingers tightening around the railings, but he knew there was no way the man would have left with Tommy alone in his home. Well, no way he would’ve left _knowing_ Tommy was alone in his home.

Glancing to the side, as he lifted himself down onto the first step, his eyes fell on a mirror. Blinking, he shuffled closer towards it, thinking it was a warped painting at first, because there was no way…he couldn’t look like this, right?

He barely recognised himself, watching as the boy in the mirror touched his face at the same time as he did. With the same missing fingers, same blond hair, same blue eyes. But that was where the similarities ended. Tommy didn’t have skin so dry it was literally flaking around his eyes, which were rimmed with red and so awfully bloodshot, his veins more prominent than his pupils. His hair was too long, two inches longer than it had been when he’d last seen it, hanging limply and awkwardly on the top of his head, a greasy mess.

And then there were the collarbones sharply protruding through his shirt, disgust rising in Tommy’s gut as he touched his own neck. Dark bags looked permanently stained under his eyes, and his face was sunken and hollow, lips chapped and cracked.

He instinctively stepped away from the mirror, terrified at the person who was staring back at him. The unrecognisable child, who looked scared and uncertain and broken. Tommy scowled, snapping his head away from the barren gaze that chased after him, choosing instead to focus on the pain that shot through his feet as he walked down each step.

Faltering on the last one, he was surprised by the wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of the murdering bastard who had betrayed him and his country. It had been a lot of effort to avoid Techno as he’d been living out in his basement and stealing his shit, so really, this was just taking the weight off of his shoulders.

The man was sitting at the table, legs crossed and feet on the wooden surface. He must’ve changed clothes, because the one thing Tommy definitely remembered from yesterday was the blood swiped down Techno’s face, dried into the corners of his lips and rubbed into his forehead. But the man looked clean, impossibly so. But Tommy reckoned that was just because he was the dirtiest he had ever been, standing in front of Technoblade wearing pressed clothes, a neat cape brushed over his chair, in his terribly tidy home, completely devoid of dried, browning blood.

“Eat,” was all Technoblade said, head resting in one hand as flashing, seemingly emotionless, crimson eyes trained on Tommy’s face, as the other gestured to the plate of scrambled eggs and steak in front of him. Tommy moved cautiously, glancing down at the plate with a raised brow when he paused in front of the seat, leaning his arms over it as he sniffed at the food. Steak was a weird fucking choice for breakfast, but Techno had always had some issue with killing pigs. Go figure.

“How are you?” Tommy asked as he looked up at Techno with a lazy grin on his face.

“What are you doin' in my house, Tommy?” Techno asked, eyes narrowing but unflinching from where he sat.

“How are you?” Tommy asked again, simply refusing to answer that question. He’d hoped Techno would be a little more welcoming. Or maybe he’d known the older man would turn him away as soon as he saw him, and that was why, instead of knocking on Technoblade’s door and begging for help like he probably should’ve done, he’d broken in, and hidden behind his chests in the basement. It wasn’t like he even needed help anyway. Just had needed somewhere to sleep for a couple of days. Tommy had never needed anyone else’s help. It always came back to bite him in the ass anyway.

He wasn’t an idiot, no matter who thought he was. He knew he was alone now. Knew Techno hadn’t come here for him, hadn’t stayed for him, didn’t care about him. He’d come for Wilbur. Just like Phil had. And he had been so fucking hopeless, that he’d thought he could somehow insert himself in the trio’s bond. Just because Wilbur had watched over him, just because Wilbur had led him through it all, he’d blatantly assumed they would too.

Tommy knew where he stood now.

“What are you doin’ in my house, Tommy?” Techno repeated, voice dropping dangerously low as he swung his feet off of the table, leaning over.

And maybe he was tired, or maybe he wanted fucking bacon for breakfast, or maybe Techno’s face was just starting to piss him the fuck off, because Tommy immediately lashed out, snarling as he crinkled his nose at Technoblade. “You’re a bitch. You know that, right?”

 _“What?”_ Technoblade asked incredulously, standing up out of his chair to point a finger at Tommy in exasperation. Looked like Tommy’s face was starting to piss Techno the fuck off in turn as he let out a growl of frustration.

It had been a while since he’d seen Technoblade like this, had been months since he’d seen him looking like a normal man. Well, as normal as he could when he had protruding tusks and pale pink hair. Even in Tommy’s nightmares, in his own head, Techno always stood, tall and proud, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, trident in tightened fists, a mountain of corpses building up behind him. But now, he just looked tired, like he needed a lot of caffeine.

“I found you breakin’ into _my_ house. How long have you even been ‘ere?”

“I can explain, I can explain,” Tommy started awkwardly, a shit-eating grin still plastered over his face as he backed up, hands up in surrender.

“Oh,” Techno shook his head, hair swaying with the movement. “You better start explainin’ soon Tommy, or I swear I’ll-” With the other man distracted, Tommy leapt to the side, snatching up the axe he’d noticed resting on the kitchen counters when he’d walked in. Would Techno really kill him? He’d tried to before, after all. And while he knew they weren’t on the best of terms, they still had some sort of connection, right? Even if it was just through their shared grief of their mutual brother. But Tommy had been fooled before. He’d thought Dream was his friend before.

“You can’t kill me!” Tommy yelled, viscously slashing the axe through the air. Technoblade just looked at him with a deadpanned expression, still on the other side of the table. “I have an axe,” Tommy added, just for effect, even if the weight of the weapon was starting to hurt his arms.

“That’s my _axe_ ,” Techno groaned in annoyance, starting to walk around the table towards him. Tommy tried to scramble away, but Techno tugged it out of his grip easily, placing the axe back onto the counter before he arched a brow at Tommy, who was now holding a flint and steel.

“My house is made out of wood, Tommy,” Techno warned, and while Tommy didn’t make any movement to light it, he didn’t drop it either.

“Well, I say we call it our house,” he said with a tentative grin, watching as Technoblade’s eyes narrowed, his whole body stilling as he looked at Tommy like his head was on fire.

 _“Heh?”_ he barked out before he shook his head, hand snatching out to grab the flint and steel away from Tommy. “Give me my things back,” he demanded, holding his hand out in wait as Tommy scampered away from him.

“No,” he pouted defiantly, slipping the flint and steel into his pockets as he crinkled his nose up at Techno

“Tommy, I’m going to murder you.” His mouth went dry, dread snaking down his back as Tommy tried to laugh it off. Technoblade wasn’t going to kill him. He wouldn’t. The flint and steel was a comforting weight at his side even still.

“Sounds like someone’s having a rough day,” he chuckled, watching as Techno pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How long ‘ave you been ‘ere?”

He laughed awkwardly, mumbling as he shrugged, “Give or take like three days.”

“Three days?” Techno cried out in disbelief; lips parted as he watched Tommy grin up at him.

“It's actually not that hard to trick you, you know,” Tommy told him as he stepped around the man and dropped onto the seat in front of the plate, gripping the fork as he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten any proper food in four months. He shovelled it down his mouth, talking around the food, completely ignoring Techno in favour for the warm eggs in front of him. “I’m feeling so jolly today, friend. You know my other good friend Dream, well he-"

“How the hell 'ave you been hidin’ in my house for three days like a gremlin?” Techno interrupted him, pushing the plate of food away from him so he was forced to look up. He bit down the whine that threatened to escape as his eyes lingered longingly on the food, fingers tightening on the fork in his hand. If Techno tried anything, he’d be getting three fucking prongs to the eye.

“With me and Dream, it was sort of a love hate relationship, y’know?” he winced, head moving from side to side as he leaned his elbows on the table. How the hell could he explain what had happened? He barely knew himself. Had barely been able to keep track of how many days had passed. Barely knew why Dream had gone to all that effort of pretending to be his friend like that.

“And basically Technoblade, what ended up happening was- I need my discs back,” he decided on, cutting himself off before he could start rambling on about Dream. Techno didn’t need to know any of that shit, it was personal and private information, and Tommy didn’t even want to tell him.

“That was not a good summary at all!” Techno cried out in an almost amusing mixture of frustration, fatigue and irritation. “Why are you livin’ in my house?”

“I’m just some kid with a dream, okay?” Tommy objected, standing up from his seat and backing away from the older man. Technoblade snarled out in irritation, reaching out for Tommy’s arm to stop him, but he just ducked under him, grinning as his body didn’t even freeze up in pain. He was getting better. Maybe not moving for three days had done some good after all. God, he should’ve been a healer or some shit, he was so fucking smart. 

Techno chased him through the houses, murmuring words under his breath that Tommy couldn’t, and didn’t particularly want to, hear. Tommy looped around him, leaping up onto the table and skipping over the plates of food before he dropped back down onto the floor, skidding towards the trapdoor and flinging it open with his foot, leaping down into the basement.

“Look, you’re obviously all sleep-deprived and shit-” Tommy said as Techno dropped down into the basement after him, face as confused as Tommy had ever seen it. And then the man exploded, gripping his fingers into his hair as he yelled out in frustration. Tommy bit down a laugh when Techno literally stamped his foot on the floor. He blinked down at the fluffy socks the man was wearing, wondering if he could steal a pair.

“What the hell is _happenin’?_ First, I see the ghost of my dead brother, and then they try to execute me, and now you show up and tell me you’ve been livin’-”

“Execute you?” Tommy repeated, eyes wide as he gasped up at the man. Who had tried to kill Technoblade? Uncertainty unfurled in his gut as he thought through the options, only landing on one group of people that it could possibly be. What the hell was Tubbo doing?

“This ‘as not been a good few days, Tommy,” Techno sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I am not in the mood for games right now.”

“Well,” Tommy nodded considerately, biting down on his bottom lip as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I live here now,” he said, surprised that Techno didn’t even reprimand him. He supposed it really hadn’t been a good few days.

“I noticed,” Technoblade murmured into his own hand, when his eyes widened, murder flashing over his face as his hands dropped to the side, moving like he might genuinely strangle Tommy. Panic threatened to suffocate the younger boy as he shuffled further away, pushing it back down as Techno snarled out, “Holy shit, you’re the one who was stealin’ all of my things!”

“Look, Technoblade, you are stupid, listen to me-” he tried to deny it, but Techno was holding out his hands, as if he was expecting Tommy to just hand him back all the food and healing potions he’d already used.

“Give me back all of my stuff, Tommy,” he warned.

“Listen to me, here’s what we do.” He paused, shaking his head before he stepped forward, lightly pushing Technoblade away from him. “Go away, actually,” he told him, gesturing to the ladder that took you up to the first floor.

“This is my house! This is my basement!” Techno objected furiously, brow creasing. Fuck, alright, maybe he wasn’t handling this as well as he could be.

“If it makes you feel better, I can explain to you what happened,” he suggested with a small shrug, shuffling awkwardly under Techno’s loud stare.

“Okay,” the other man nodded, voice calmer than it had been. “Explain to me what happened.”

“Okay, but turn that frown upside down,” Tommy grinned, reaching up to push his fingers into Techno’s cheeks. The other man slapped his hands away with a scowl, and Tommy rolled his eyes as Techno leaned against the chests, arms folded closely into his chest, the perfect picture of calm, still, violence.

“Explain _now_.”

“I was living alone, y’know?” Tommy started, wringing his fingers, refusing to meet crimson eyes. “Kinda sad, kinda lonely. And well, I was kind of living with Dream, my friend. And-it’s kind of been a confusing week. Because he was my friend, and then, and now I’m here. And I don’t remember, and well, I do remember, but it was very confusing.” He didn’t realise he hadn’t been breathing through that until he looked up, chest rising and falling awkwardly. Technoblade just stared blankly back at him, looking kind of pained.

“I am so lost right now.”

“I’ve realised,” Tommy continued anyway, needing to say it aloud. “Dream, although a good friend for a long time, is a wrongen, and I hate him. And don’t ask me to speak about him,” he added when he saw Techno’s mouth open. The older man nodded, holding his hands up in mock surrender, watching Tommy carefully as he shuffled where he stood, too uncomfortable to stand still.

“I wasn’t goin' to.”

“Because the more I think about him, the more I get confused,” Tommy breathed, chewing on his bottom lip as he shook his head. His hair fell in his face in limp clumps. “But right now, he has my discs, and Technoblade, I don’t know if you remember but I was exiled.”

“I do remember that,” Techno confirmed, and the amusement plastered over his face made Tommy scowl.

“So, I’m kind of like a lone wolf right now,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck.

“You did all that work for your country and they exiled you.”

Tommy blinked up at Technoblade, baring himself for the sarcasm, the pity, the judgment. But his face was the same as it normally was, open and honest. No one had ever said that before, been on his side, thought that maybe it was L’Manberg that fucked up, and not him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, stomach clenching horribly as he even considered his old family back home. “But I’ve realised the source of all this conflict, and everything is my discs. So, I’m going to get them back. And I was working really hard, but then instead I thought that maybe I could-”

“Maybe you could steal off of Technoblade,” the older man sighed. Tommy grinned. There wasn’t much he had missed about the guy, but he did always find it funny when he spoke about himself in third person.

“Exactly.”

“You know what Tommy, ‘ear me out ‘ere,” Techno started, taking a step closer, running his tongue along his teeth.

“Well, no listen to me okay?” Tommy cut in, holding his hand out. He bit down a sigh of relief when Techno paused in his tracks, cocking his head down at Tommy. But all he could think about was the danger, the threat that lied here. “Because I still remember exactly what you did. Betraying me, trying to kill Tubbo, so please, leave my room,” he asked, folding his arms.

“This is not your room,” Technoblade said calmly, the clenched jaw revealing the frustration he was trying to keep supressed. “This is my basement.”

“I can get the discs back myself. I do not need your assistance, so goodbye.”

“Well, Tommy, we have two possibilities here-”

“Goodbye,” Tommy frowned, finality cutting through his voice. But Technoblade just stayed where he was, brows raised.

“Stop sayin’ goodbye, this is my property.”

“I don’t really know why you’re still here,” Tommy shrugged, rolling his eyes.

“I live 'ere!” Techno snarled out, and Tommy couldn’t help but flinch backwards at the sound of it. His fingers were trembling, and he tried to shove them behind his back before the other man noticed. He was too late, Technoblade’s face morphing into curiosity, red eyes flashing with interest. Tommy lowered his head, and was eternally grateful when Technoblade started speaking, not commenting on it, voice, while still low and gravelly, infinitely softer.

“Okay. Okay, Tommy, listen to me, you want your discs back? I’ll tell you somethin',” Techno said, and Tommy’s breathing hitched when he felt a hand on his jaw. He bit back a cry of terror, vision blurring as the image of Dream in front of him, Dream’s scarred and calloused and warm hand on his skin, right before he back handed him, or pushed him down or pulled him into a tight, warmly suffocating hug.

But this hand while rough, was not flecked in rippling scars. It was a cold touch, fingers longer than Dream’s, stony against his flesh. It was not Dream. Dream was not here; he could not touch him. This was Technoblade, and although the man was slightly unhinged, crimson eyes flashing whenever a drop of blood fell through the air, he was not Dream.

“They took everythin' from you: L’Manberg, those guys,” Techno said, dropping his hand onto Tommy’s shoulder, touch light. Tommy could push him away easily if he wanted, Techno wouldn’t stop him. He didn’t.

“They exiled you, left you for dead. Whatever Dream did to you was because of ‘em. And you know what, Tommy? They tried to take everythin’ from me too.” Tommy glanced up, Techno’s hand on him tightening ever so slightly as he glanced away, lips curling into a sneer.

“They put Phil under house arrest, they stole Carl and took all my items. I’m thinkin’ Tommy, that there are two things we could do here. One, you can get out of my house.” Tommy’s throat bobbed, and Techno’s hand fell away from him, returning to its place on the hilt of his sword, as he arched a brow at Tommy. A rare grin tilted across Techno’s lips, directed right at Tommy as he opened up his arms, in welcome, in embrace of Tommy, even though he’d fucked up, even though he deserved punishment. Techno didn’t seem to care about any of that.

“Or, we could team up. We could take down L’Manberg and get your discs back.”

Uncertainty unfurled in Tommy’s gut. Techno had destroyed L’Manberg. It had taken them months to rebuild, had taken Tubbo months to rebuild. And while Techno might not be Dream, he wasn’t a good guy. He was still a traitor. He didn’t care about Tommy; he was just trying to use him. He hadn’t come to him in exile. Hadn’t tried to help, he didn’t care. Technoblade didn’t care about anyone. And Tommy cared too much.

“You destroyed L’Manberg, right?” Tommy asked, jutting out his chin.

“Well,” Technoblade scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted his hair over his shoulder with a shrug. “That _was_ mostly Wilbur.”

“You tried to kill Tubbo, right?”

“I am known to do that,” he hummed, eyes narrowing on Tommy as the younger boy shook his head, blowing the hair out of his face.

“Good day, leave my room,” he said cheerfully, trying to usher Techno out.

“This is my house, Tommy!” Technoblade objected, swatting his hands away, face a cast of disgust. Tommy’s lips tightened into a thin line. Fine. Then he would leave. It was a big house. He’d find some other room to squat in.

Before he could clamber up the ladder, Techno grabbed onto the back of his shirt, lightly tugging him backwards, fingers just grazing the wooden rungs.

“Choose,” Techno demanded. “You can leave or-”

“Well, I don’t want to team with you, you pig prick,” Tommy hissed, folding his arms and hoping he didn’t look like a petulant child.

“Get out of ‘ere then. Do not come back,” Techno ordered, gesturing with his cape to the basement door that led out to the desolate tundra.

“You wronged me, Technoblade.”

“Do you want your discs back, Tommy?”

“I will not team with you,” Tommy stated, holding his head high. Techno must’ve seen the finality on his face, because the older man just shrugged, before he was gripping Tommy’s collar, and tugging him out of the room. Tommy barked out in protest, ignoring the way his bare feet ached as he tried to fight back. But Techno was infinitely stronger, and he was already kicking the door open and flinging Tommy out into the snow before he could even speak.

“’Ave fun getting’ your discs back, Tommy,” Technoblade’s voice called through the shut door. Tommy swallowed, standing up straight as he pounded on the door in a fit of anger.

“I can get them back alone!” he screamed, cupping his mouth against the wood.

“Yeah, yeah,” Techno snorted, voice even more annoying somehow as it was muffled. “You can’t even have your own house; you’re livin’ in my basement like a raccoon.”

“You tried to kill Tubbo!” Tommy yelled, ignoring the way his feet were slowly growing numb, skin digging into the icy snow beneath him. He hopped from foot to foot, wrapping his arms around himself.

“And? He exiled you, Tommy?” Techno said in confusion, as if trying to murder someone and exiling someone were the same thing. Besides, Techno wasn’t Tubbo’s best friend, not like Tommy was. He couldn’t betray Tubbo like that.

“Does Tubbo think you’re 'is best friend?” Techno’s voice called, as if he could hear Tommy’s thoughts. “Does he think of you the same way, Tommy? You see, Tommy, I know a lot about puttin’ trust into other people and havin’ them betray that trust. Usin’ me as a weapon and then castin’ me aside when it’s most convenient for ‘em.”

Guilt clawed at him as he leaned his forehead against the wood, teeth chattering slightly. He’d never really thought about anything from Techno’s perspective before. Only his own. Had always been too caught up in his own problems to worry about anyone else’s.

“Oh, just a little threat from Dream,” Techno continued, voice high as he mocked Tommy’s friends, Tommy’s family. He didn’t feel the familiar spike of anger, as Techno ridiculed them, as he knew he should have. He hated the sneaking doubt that whispered in his mind. The creeping wonder that maybe Technoblade was right.

“Oh, we gotta exile Tommy Innit because Dream will get mad at us. What’s the point in havin' a government if it sells out its own citizens? That’s why we 'ave to take 'em down, Tommy,” Techno said, pausing for a reply. But Tommy just dropped his weight completely onto the door, Techno’s words cutting into his skin.

“You wanna know what’s driven you apart from Tubbo? Why you don’t ‘ave your discs? It’s the government. If there was none, you could be friends with Tubbo, could ‘ave your discs back. There’d be nothin’ for Dream to threaten.”

The door heaved open, a blast of warmth hitting Tommy. He tried to move backwards so he didn’t topple over, but his body was too sore, limbs too slow. Waiting for the floor to eat his face, he sighed. But it never came. Two solid hands gripped onto his shoulders, holding him upright. Tommy blinked up, blue crashing furiously against crimson.

“Join me,” Techno breathed, a feral grin dancing across his lips. “Let’s destroy L’Manberg.”

Tommy hesitated, pushing himself out of Techno’s grip, ignoring how he swayed slightly on his own feet. “You promise that if I join, we don’t have to be friends,” he said, glancing over him tentatively. “None of that brother shit.”

“I promise,” Techno nodded enthusiastically. “Actually, it’s not even an option. Give up on that now.”

“You’ll help me get back my discs,” Tommy said, untrusting as the wind slammed the door behind them, the wood smashing against the stone frame.

“I will, Tommy.”

“I won’t help you, but you’ll help me?” Tommy confirmed, watching as Techno started climbing up the ladder, cape swaying around his legs.

He followed after him, Technoblade shaking his head side to side as Tommy clambered out of the basement. “You’ll help me destroy the government and I’ll help you.”

“No, I won’t,” Tommy frowned, folding his arms in front of him as Techno searched for something. He watched as the older man grabbed a sword from where it hung beside his front door, holding it out to Tommy with a sly grin on his lips, the tip of his tusks poking out. Tommy bit down on his own lips, but took the sword, experimentally slashing it through the air. It was heavy, the first time he’d held a sword without the threat of Dream taking it from him.

“Well, we’ll do some minor terrorism,” Techno shrugged as he crouched down, rifling through a chest as Tommy attached the sword to his back. “We can sort out the details later.”

His lips parted in surprise when Techno dropped down a pair of boots in front of him. They were leather and laced with coarse fur. It had been months since Tommy had worn something warm. He looked back up to Technoblade, waiting for the onslaught of questions, of pity. But the older man just gestured to the shoes, before he undid his cloak and threw it over Tommy’s head.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he kicked the boots onto his bare feet, breathing hitching at the feeling of the fur against his skin. Picking the cloak off of his head, he wrapped it around himself. It met the floor, since Tommy was considerably shorter than Techno, but he decided he didn’t care as a sudden warmth he hadn’t felt in months enveloped him.

“Technoblade,” he said, the older man glancing over his shoulder and arching a brow at him. “I am a huge fan of minor terrorism,” he told him, finding himself smiling as Techno did, nodding calmly. It wasn’t confirmation of friendship, or the beginnings of that brotherhood between them that they had lost, but it was something.

“That’s just what I want to hear,” Techno said, before he pushed open the front door, holding it open for Tommy.

“Pinky promise me you’ll help me get my discs back,” Tommy asked as Techno locked the front door. When the older man turned round to face him, Tommy’s arm was sticking out of the cloak. Techno glanced down, and Tommy didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched at the missing fingers. But the older man didn’t say anything as he held his own arm out, joining their pinkies and squeezing.

They didn’t speak for a while after that, hands falling apart as Techno started down the stairs, Tommy trailing after him, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself. He just followed the older man across the barren tundra, liking the way his new boots crunched over the snow. Pausing when Techno stopped in his tracks, Tommy looked up from the snow, brows furrowing as he stared at a cliffside.

Before he could ask Techno what the fuck they were doing here, the older man stepped up closer towards the rockface, and Tommy’s eyes narrowed in on what Techno was reaching for. It was a button, hidden in the rocks. Panic leapt into his throat, but before he could leap away, the image of Wilbur crouched over a different button, a button that fucked everything up, fucked Tommy up, Techno’s slim fingers pushed against it.

And somehow, the entire cliff face fell down in on itself, revealing a secret cavern. A secret cavern, covered wall to wall in Wither skulls.

Techno’s laugh rang out as Tommy stumbled inside, turning on his heels as he gazed around. He dropped his hands from the soft fabric, the cape weaving around pale, spindly legs flaked with scars. His back straightened as the wind from the outside pushed against him, raking through his hair as it danced. Shaking his head, lips parted in pure, infrangible awe he turned to look at Technoblade standing in the middle of the opening, slowly holding his arms up, pale palms facing upwards.

The light was streaming in from outside, and it send spinning shadows racing across Techno, across broad shoulders and long legs and hands that could crush your skull in one movement. Pink hair weaving in the wind like a dragon twisting in the air, Tommy gulped. Light framing him, standing tall with his pretentious clothing, in all his regal and violent glory, Technoblade smiled at him.

“Welcome home, Theseus,” he breathed softly, crimson eyes trained solely on Tommy. And there was no pity like there had been on Ranboo, Sam’s faces when they’d visited him in those eyes. There was nothing like compassion, or the heavy obligation to look after him like Niki and Wilbur had clearly felt in his smile. While there was no scrape of those things, not even as red eyes scanned over his lithe frame, the sinking of his cheeks and the bruises littering his face, there was understanding.

And Tommy had been searching for weeks, for months, maybe his whole life for that. He’d thought he’d wanted to make his way back to L’Manberg, back to Tubbo and Quackity and Niki, thought that was his home. Maybe his home had still been out there. Maybe his home could be here, standing beside a man more like a god than a mortal, surrounded by wither skulls and raw, honest understanding.

“What the fuck?” Tommy muttered under his breath as Techno strode past him, boots hitting against the intricately designed stone floor.

“Oh, we’re goin’ to do so much violence,” Techno laughed, shaking his head with glee. “They are so screwed. They should not 'ave messed with Technoblade,” he said as he ran his fingers along the wither skulls, his nail scraping awfully against the bone.

“We’re just getting the discs back,” Tommy reminded him as he came up beside the older man.

Techno tilted his head to look down at him, and Tommy felt like he was being watched by a lazy cat, Techno’s slitted eyes blinking slowly before he nodded, “Yes. Yes, by any means necessary.”

“No, no, not by any-” he cut himself off as Techno reached down and held Tommy’s hand up, before he pressed a skull into his palm. It was lighter than he’d been expecting, the black bone cool against his skin. “Well, I guess by any means necessary,” he said instead, eyes concentrating on the object of mass power in his fingers. Techno had destroyed L’Manberg with a mere three of these. He looked up around the walls, tightening his hold on the one in his own hand. There were a lot more than three now.

Techno didn’t respond to him, merely humming in amusement and agreement before he plucked the skull back out of his hold. He flexed his fingers, frowning down at his empty hand before he shoved it back under the cape. Since he had the ability to keep himself warm at all times now, he’d be damned if he let the cold cut at him anymore.

“Look, Techno, even though L’Manberg has wronged me, and you, it’s because of Will,” Tommy said as he followed after the older man, legs too short to keep up with Techno’s long strides. He noticed the man’s face darken, and he didn’t know if it was at the mention of L’Manberg and the government, or at the mention of their fallen brother. "It's not their fault."

His breathing caught slightly as Techno’s jaw clamped down tightly. He remembered suddenly that Techno had been the one to bury Will, to carry his corpse out of the ruins. And even though he was huddled up in a mess of fabric and fur, a chill breathed down his spine awkwardly. But he continued speaking, needing Technoblade to understand.

“We will not upset L’Manberg, and we will not upset Tubbo.”

Technoblade didn’t look at him as they left the room, pale fingers darting back out across the button. He didn’t even wait to watch it fall back into place, striding back towards the house. Even though he had given Tommy his cape, and was just wearing a light shirt, the man didn’t seem bothered by the cold, ploughing through the barren wasteland.

“We’ll negotiate the finer details later,” he said when they reached the house, and Tommy had to take a moment to remember what he was even referring to. “Now we eat.”

Tommy did eat. The plate that had been discarded on the table in favour of arguing had grown cold, and when Tommy had sat down, fork grabbing the now hard eggs - because hard eggs were still better than anything he’d eaten in three months - Techno snatched the plate away from him.

He’d sat still as Techno cooked, stomach grumbling painfully, legs swinging as he rested his head on the table. He’d debated speaking, even though he knew Techno wouldn’t entertain his annoying spewing of words, never had, but ultimately decided he was too tired to even try and be funny.

And so, he sat in the companionable silence, listening to the sounds of Techno’s cooking, head on his arms, eyes fluttering shut, until a plate was placed in front of him. Tommy’s head snapped back up, brows raising when he was met with a plate of two slices of bread, a measly sliver of fish, and a mountain of fruits and vegetables.

“The fuck is this?” Tommy asked as he violently stabbed the fish with his fork, moving it to the edge of the plate. He would not be eating fish ever again in his life. Technoblade sat down across from him, his plate equally tragic and pathetic.

“You need to eat that,” was all Technoblade said, chewing obnoxiously loudly on an apple slice.

“Where’s the steak? The eggs?” Tommy asked with a frown, glancing over his shoulder and peering into the kitchen, trying to tell if this was some sick joke. He’d eaten tiny shavings of fish he caught for the past three months, and now Technoblade was trying to make him eat fruit and veg?

“I shouldn’t ‘ave offered you that earlier,” Techno said slowly, as if he was rehearsing the words in his head before he said them, chin high as he looked at Tommy from across the table. When Tommy just blinked back at him, not understanding, Techno cleared his throat awkwardly before he dropped his own fork back down onto the plate.

“You ‘ave clearly not been eatin’ properly.” Tommy’s gaze dropped to his knees, unable to take Techno’s staring. “And I’m not gonna ask why. But if you eat steak and eggs right now, you’ll get sick. So, uhm,” he coughed again, and when Tommy looked back up, Techno was just scraping his cutlery along the plate. “Please try eat that. Slowly,” he added when Tommy silently shoved a piece of buttered toast into his mouth. He took the next bite slower, and Techno didn’t say anything, just nodded tightly, before he went back to his own food.

After eating, Techno led him upstairs, sighing, slight annoyance crossing his face before he gestured to the bed pushed up against the wall. The bed Tommy had woken up in. “You can take my bed for now. You can build your own later,” he shrugged before he crossed over to the dresser underneath the window. Tommy sat at the bottom of the bed, kicking his boots off and bringing his knees up to his chest.

He froze when Techno turned around, holding a familiar coat in his hands. Neither of them spoke as he crossed the room, holding the folded fabric out to Tommy. “You don’t ‘ave to take it,” he said quickly when Tommy’s hands didn’t move from where they were clutching his own ankles. “But I thought you might want it.”

“Where did you find this?” Tommy breathed shakily as he took Will’s old L’Manberg coat from Techno’s fingers, running his own over the bobbly blue fabric. The slightly old, stale smell of vanilla made Tommy shudder, choking down the acidic tears that built up in his throat.

“I went back to Pogtopia a while ago,” Techno shrugged, offering no other explanation before he gestured lazily to the dresser again and said, “You can take any clothes out of there to sleep in. Might be a bit big.”

“That’s alright,” Tommy said stiffly, fidgeting with the golden lapels. “Where are you gonna sleep?” he asked as Techno started down the stairs, pausing on the top one when Tommy spoke.

“Don’t worry about it,” was all the older man said before he continued downstairs, footsteps fading away. Tommy dropped onto his back, the mattress impossibly soft under his body, as he gripped Will’s coat to his chest. Eyes shutting, he let his muscles relax, everything smoothing out. And for the first time in what felt like years, he let himself sleep without worrying about it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos and comments they absolutely make my day!
> 
> unfortunately I do be having exams coming up, so updates on all my fics are going to be limited for a couple weeks now, just wanted to get this chapter up to let you all know. Hope you stick around for when I come back :D

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me :D


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